


Ice, Ice, Baby

by SnowshadowAO3



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe- 2022 Olympics, Fluff, Happy Ending, Humor, M/M, Pair Figure Skating, Relatively Accurate Descriptions of Figure Skating due to Stupid Amounts of Research, Slow Burn, Some Very Faint General Angst, Русский Translation Available In Notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 08:54:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 40,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13807809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowshadowAO3/pseuds/SnowshadowAO3
Summary: “We could do Despacito.”Derek makes a face, and Stiles silently crosses the song off the list.“Hit Me Baby One More Time?”Derek rolls his eyes. “I swear to god, Stiles…”Stiles crosses it off as well, then perks up. “Ooh! I know! What about that one song from Tangled, where they’re sitting in the boat in the lake, and all those lanterns are floating around them?”“I’m not figure skating to Disney in the Olympics, Stiles.”





	Ice, Ice, Baby

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Айс, Айс, Детка](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14827793) by [LonelyLikeACastaway](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LonelyLikeACastaway/pseuds/LonelyLikeACastaway)



> If you know nothing about skating (like I did before spending way too long researching), here's a quick rundown:  
> Pairs get scored for both technique and artistry/interpretation/presentation.  
> A triple axel is considered a difficult move, and anything that has quadruple in front of it is impressive.  
> When you do multiple jumps or spins or moves right after each other, that's called a combination.  
> Figure skating is stupid hard.
> 
> You might want to listen to the music that I describe Derek and Stiles doing in their routines, because it helps with the mood and visualization. Additionally, if you want to see how dang beautiful skating/ice dancing are, here are some YouTube links: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wOEKdWrtz6U&t=2s, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eysNtspIDWs, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6bNOnXTe4Ok

Erica is late.

It really shouldn’t surprise Derek, given that his manager is _always_ late, but he never fails to be annoyed by it. He checks his watch for the fifth time this minute, tapping his foot as he stands in the chill LA night air. She’s lucky he’s used to the cold—

The sound of screeching tires is the only warning Derek gets that his manager has finally decided to arrive.

The car skids around the corner, nearly hitting a stop sign, before jolting to a stop in front of Derek’s apartment.

“Get in, Loser,” Erica calls to him from the rolled-down window of the Camaro, big grin on her face, and Derek glares at her with his arms crossed.

“You’re late.”

Erica rolls her eyes, and reaches across to the passenger’s side door to throw it open. “Yeah, because I was busy convincing this person’s manager that you aren’t a _terrible_ match for his skater. Come _on._ ”

Derek gets in the car.

“Why would I be a bad match?” he grumbles, putting on his seat belt, and Erica sighs. They both know why.

“Well, Derek, you aren’t exactly the hottest demand item right now, considering you’re the equivalent of an old man with an expiration date and you rejected the _five_ women who I tried to pair you with.”

Derek tries not to wince at her frosty tone, because he _does_ feel bad about that. But it’s not his fault that he doesn’t get along with most people. The ones who he doesn’t actively dislike end up not liking him, anyways. He’s been skating for seven years, which is hardly anything at all considering he’s twenty-five and trying to qualify for the 2022 Olympics. He’s also grumpy, and a stickler for technical scores. No other skater is willing to pair with him for long, even though he’s _,_ as Erica says, _“Dope as fuck.”_

He prefers single anyways, but he has no chance against the current single skaters who could qualify for the 2022s. That had been his plan: single skate, be responsible for only himself. But that isn’t happening, so. He was trained in pair, he _could_ do it—but he’s largely given up on making it onto a skating team, which is unfortunate because Laura will be so disappointed.

“Anyways,” Erica says, driving much too fast for the speed limit, “I feel good about this one.”

“And who are they?” This detail has been annoying Derek, because Erica won’t tell him the name of the skater. She just told him she was picking him up, and that he should look presentable, and that she would murder him if he didn’t.

“You’ll find out, Jesus,” she says, and Derek sighs.

“Waste of my time,” he mumbles, and Erica gives his head a light smack in retaliation.

\-------

When Erica pulls the car up to a high school skating rink, he’s momentarily thrown off. There are flashing lights coming from inside the building, matching some poorly-hung ones outside, and some students are standing at the doors to the rink with flyers in their hands. It looks like what he would expect from a shitty club, not a potential place for a fellow Olympic qualifier.

“Did you take a wrong turn?” he asks, and Erica groans.

“Just get out and try not to glare anyone to death, Derek.”

He hates her a little, but does what she says.

He can hear the steady beat of something suspiciously close to club music from the rink, but can’t make out the lyrics well enough to name the song. So far, he is not liking this current situation.

Erica reaches out and straightens the black tie he’s wearing, then smooths out his silver dress shirt. “Alright. Seriously, Derek, this one might be our chance. Be good.”

He feels a lot like a scolded dog, but he nods.

As they approach the front doors, they’re greeted with a truly dopey smile from a tall kid holding flyers. _Alumni Event Association_ is sprawled across his T-shirt, and his dark brown hair is like a floppy mess on the top of his head.

“Hi!” he greets happily, and Derek wonders how on earth this kid is an Alumni when he hardly looks eighteen.

“Well hi there,” Erica beams, and the kid beams back, and Derek stands there awkwardly.

“ _Scott,_ the flyer,” says the girl manning the other half of the doors, and the kid scrambles to get two from the stack.

“Sorry, sorry!” he says, and Derek watches as the girl rolls her eyes. She’s wearing a matching shirt, and her shoulder-length brown hair swings back and forth as she shakes her head. This has clearly been a reoccurring situation all night.

“Thank you for coming to the school fundraiser event. That will be five dollars each, please,” she says, holding out her hand to Derek, and he looks expectantly at Erica.

“Wow, making the lady pay. Classy, Derek,” Erica drawls, but pulls ten dollars out of her wallet and hands it over. As she does, _Scott_ offers them two of the bright pink pieces of paper. Derek reaches to grab one, but Erica beats him to it.

“Nuh-uh,” she scolds, and starts dragging him through the door as the girl calls, “Enjoy the show!” to their retreating backs. Derek hates her _so much,_ because he knows the name of the skater is on that flyer. He doesn’t have time to comment, though, because as soon as the doors open he’s hit with a _wave_ of sound.

“What the—” he says, because Lady Gaga’s _Bad Romance_ is blasting through the entire building, and Erica pats him on the back.

“It’s the warm-up music,” she says, and Derek is becoming increasingly suspicious that this is some type of sick prank. He lets her lead him to the stands anyways, though, because it’s not like he has any other choice.

As they start to climb the stairs, Derek is surprised to see how _packed_ the seats are. It’s a small rink, given that they’re at a high school, but people are practically stacked on top of each other. A few folks jostle him (and it’s satisfying to watch them bounce off him, because he’s a solid mass of muscle), but Erica clears a way to some seats at the very top of the stands. Derek glances back as they rise, but doesn’t have time to catch any details before Erica yanks him to two human-sized spaces on the blue seats.

It looks like they were saved for Erica and Derek, somehow. People around the seats don’t look happy, and grumble as they pass.  

“Vernon!” Erica says, friendly and charming as always, and Derek focuses on the person sitting right next to their spots on the seats. A man is sitting there, practically a statue in comparison to the hustle and bustle all around them. He glances over at them, and sets down the small bag of popcorn he was holding to stand and shake Erica’s hand.

“Please, Miss Reyes: I prefer Boyd.”

Boyd looks strong, and extremely collected. He doesn’t look like the typical skating manager, with an impartial expression and not nearly enough wrinkles, but Erica isn’t exactly typical either, so Derek tries not to judge. He watches them shake hands, unsure if he should sit in the chair or wait to be introduced. He pays Erica to do these things for him so he doesn’t have to. He’s relieved when Erica grabs him by the arm, pulling him forward into the introductions.

“Ah, you must be Derek,” Boyd says, eying him over with a neutral look, and Derek shakes the hand offered to him.

“Yes, hello,” he says, and wavers.

“Thank you for meeting with us,” Erica jumps in, and Boyd motions for them all to take a seat. The people behind Derek grumble, but it’s not his fault for being tall. As they sit forward, he tries to look at the rink again, but Boyd draws his attention.

“So, you want to potentially be a pair?” he asks, and Erica nods enthusiastically. “Well, I can’t blame you. Heard that Chen, Rippon, and Greenburg are shoe-ins for the men’s singles in ’22. Competing against them would be insane.” Derek hears the words _at your age_ implied there, but it’s likely his paranoia and not Boyd’s actual intention.

“That being said,” Boyd says, and tosses some popcorn into his mouth as the song changes to _another_ Lady Gaga song, “the pair skate will be competitive as well. Are you going for ice dance, or figure?”

“Figure,” Derek says immediately, because he’s never been good at the music interpretation and acting that’s needed to successfully pull off ice dancing, and Erica nods.

“Derek is strongest in technical, and he has the precision for ice dance—but he prefers single, so the whole ‘moving together as one’ requirement for ice dancing wouldn’t be his strongest suit.”

Boyd gives a little hum in the back of his throat, and eats another piece of popcorn. “Well, that could be a problem.”

Derek doesn’t like the sound of that, and his stomach clenches. Erica keeps the smile on her face, even though he knows she just had a huge wrench thrown in her plans. “He can coordinate, though,” she says, just as the lights start to dim, and Boyd shrugs.

“So can mine. That’s why we don’t want to do the singles—already trained in pair. But if you don’t connect to the emotional aspect of skating, then you won’t be a good fit.” The music fades a decibel or so, and the crowd starts excitedly whispering to each other as the lights dim. Derek berates himself for not getting a good view of the girl he might be working with, because now he’s going in blind.

“I do connect to that, though,” he says, because he _does._ He just prefers the technical part, because it’s concrete and measurable.

Boyd just shrugs again, and Derek can barely see him in the darkness that has taken over the rink.

“See if you even like him, first.”

Derek starts to nod, wanting this to work out, before he processes what Boyd said.

“Wait, _him_?” Derek asks, right as he’s drowned out by the start of intro music.   

“Ladies and gentlemen, folks of all ages,” says a voice, and all the lights go towards one end of the rink, where a man is standing. Derek has to blink a few times before he recognizes the kid at the door, Scott. He’s grinning like an idiot, and still wearing the Alumni shirt. “Thanks for coming out to our fundraiser! As a recent graduate, I’m sure you all recognize me. I’m Scott McCall, and I just have a few reminders for you all before we get to the show!”

The crowd cheers loudly, but Derek doesn’t join in because he’s still stuck on the word _him._ For a few panicked moments, Derek thinks _this_ is the kid he’s supposed to be skating with. But he’s not dressed right, and Derek forces himself to think logically.

“As always, feel free to video tape the crap out of this,” Scott says, and there’s laughter from the stands. “And I know it may be tempting to throw love letters into the rink, but we can’t have anything crossing between the stands and the ice, ok? Including you folks. So how about we all stay seated, and stay safe, and have a dang good time?” His voice gets deeper and louder on the last words, and applause (and a few screams of approval) reverberate from the stands. Scott grins and gives a wave, and carefully skates his way back to the safety of solid ground.

“Erica,” Derek whispers harshly, leaning in to try and capitalize on the few brief seconds before the show starts, but she waves him away.

“Just shut up, and don’t jump to any conclusions,” she hisses at him, eyes flicking over to Boyd as he continues to eat popcorn piece-by-piece. Her words don’t make him feel any better, though. He doesn’t know how any of this could possibly work—

There’s a pause in the music, and the lights all focus on the center of the rink. Derek leans forward, and his stomach drops.

There, casually skating backwards in loops, is a male figure who Derek doesn’t recognize. He looks tall, and lean, and he’s wearing an all-black outfit that seems to shimmer in the lights. As he glides backwards, doing a lazy pivot, Derek makes out the word _Alumni_ written in bright pink on his back. He gives a wave, and multiple screams pour from the crowd.

Scott’s voice booms over the sound system as the skater comes to a smooth stop. “And help me welcome… Stiles! Stilinski!”

Derek feels his mouth open in shock, and it’s not just from the fact that _Woman_ by Kesha starts playing.

“Erica!” he hisses, turning to her because _he knows that name_ , but she physically grabs his face and forces it back to the stands. He stares, a bit numbly, as the overly-loud speakers play the first few words of the song and Stiles mouths along, and does something with his hips that has Derek’s heart jolting—and then the kid takes off.

He darts across the ice, goes right into an axel, and lands with so much grace that it momentarily stops Derek’s mad rush of thoughts. That’s saying something, too, because Derek knows why Erica didn’t want to give him Stiles’ name. Stiles Stilinski has a reputation, and it’s mainly for the fact that he sued the International Skating Union for prohibiting male-male skating pairs—and won.

It’s also because his skating partner, Kira Yukimura, was badly injured a few years ago and had to drop out of the running for the ’18 Olympics. That’s the other thing about Stiles Stilinski: he sued the ISU for male-male pairs, but _he wasn’t even in one._

Saying he caused some conflict would be the understatement of the century. He also got massive social media applause, and is arguably a very good person for standing up to hegemonic gender norms, but Derek doesn’t need a good person. He needs a good figure skater.

Derek watches as Stiles executes a Half Loop followed by a Salchow, timing it so he lands right as Kesha says _motherfucker._

“Are you serious, Erica?” he half-snarls, and smacks her hand away when she tries to get him to keep watching. “You want me to partner with _him_?”

“What do you even know about him, besides the lawsuit?” Erica hisses back, turning her back to Boyd so he doesn’t hear them, and Derek clenches his fists.

“He’s an ice dance skater! He’s dancing to _Kesha!_ ”

“And he’s good,” she retorts, but the words hold a little less impact given that Kesha just said _Loosey as a goosey and we're looking for some fun._ “He’s good, and he’s had two other ice dancing singles try to pick him up to join their team, but he’s said no to each. Says if he’s going to Olympics in ’22, it’ll be with a guy. His _background_ is in ice dancing, but he does figure as well—which you would see, if you _bothered to watch_.”

Derek hates this. He hates it so much.

“He’s not even serious about going!” he snaps, and he has no way of actually knowing that, but what kind of Olympic qualifier skates to Kesha at a high school fundraiser instead of training?

“How can you say that?”

Erica always calls him out. It’s frustrating.

“They’re calling him the next Johnny Weir. And Johnny Weir was unpredictable—”

“ _And_ was an Olympic medalist! See, _this_ is why I didn’t tell you!” Erica is fuming. “You don’t even bother to watch the guy’s combos or routine, because you’ve already made up your mind! You say he isn’t serious about going? I think _you_ aren’t. Having a guy partner bothers you that much?”

Derek glares at her. “It has nothing to do with him being a guy! I can’t be with some eighteen-year-old who causes drama everywhere he goes! The ISU doesn’t like him, being paired with him could hurt my chances—”

“You’re a coward,” Erica snaps, and crosses her arms as she turns back to the rink. Below them, Stiles is wagging his finger and singing along to Kesha’s _don't buy me a drink, I make my money, don't touch my weave, don't call me "honey",_ winking at the crowd as they go apeshit over him practically shimmying across the ice.

Her words make Derek snap his mouth shut, and he stiffly turns back to the rink as well. Next to them, Boyd continues slowly eating his popcorn, eyes not leaving Stiles.

Derek is too frustrated to pay attention to Stiles’ technique. Instead, he silently fumes as Stiles raises his hands over his head during a backwards spiral, blowing a kiss to someone in the crowd as the music changes to _Tik Tok,_ and then _another_ Gaga song. Derek doesn’t recognize this one, but it sounds like she’s singing in German, and Stiles mouths the words as he starts to speed up again. Derek can tell from the front-facing position that Stiles is about to go into another axel—and is shocked when Stiles does a double followed by an arabesque.

The move makes him pay attention.

The packed stands all cheer, and Derek stares at where Stiles’ perfectly placed blade landed. It’s not a triple axel, sure—but it’s more than he was expecting.

“See?” Erica demands out of the corner of her mouth, clearly still upset, and Derek leans forward. He looks more closely at Stiles’ footwork, watches the way he keeps his edge deep in the same way Derek does. A deep edge is more highly rewarded; flats are poor form, and he hasn’t seen Stiles slip up once.

“Yeah,” he says, but he’s not convinced.

\-------

“That was really amazing,” Erica tells Boyd, raising her voice so she can be heard over the bustle of the stands emptying, and Boyd shrugs.

“He was being loose tonight.”

Derek wonders what exactly Boyd defines as _loose._ Stiles’ twenty minute routine was so expressionist that Derek had a hard time keeping track of what was happening. It was hard to only look at technique when _Stiles_ had been his own show. It’s what Derek envies (and dislikes) most about skaters who started out in ice dancing: they emote, believably and smoothly. They match their expressions and rhythms to their music, because it’s the skating equivalent of theatrical ballroom dancing, and Stiles’ music was wild. Seeing a skater happily signing _I want your whiskey mouth all over my blonde south_ and _I wanna take a ride on your disco stick_ feels insulting to the art of the discipline. It made it seem like Stiles wasn’t taking things seriously, which maybe he wasn’t, but Derek can’t tell. All he knows is that Stiles was extremely unconventional. He’d had the crowd clap along, and done some moves that fans screamed out on improv, and Derek’s head is so filled with Lady Gaga songs that it might explode.

His form was also on point. Not as good as Derek, but admittedly good.

“Well, if that was him being _loose,_ I would love to see him on competitive ice,” Erica says, and shoots a glare at Derek to prod him on.

“Does he always skate to Lady Gaga?” is what comes out of his mouth, because Derek is an idiot, and Erica looks like she wants to strangle him.

“No,” Boyd says, not seeming particularly upset at the question. “But this was a fundraiser for the PRIDE Club at Beacon High. Gaga is kind of a big deal.”

“Oh,” Derek says, and feels like an asshole. He glances back down at the rink, less dramatically lit now that all the lights have been turned on. Stiles is talking to Scott, laughing as he takes sips from a bottle of water and sways his skates languidly on the ice. There’s something about the way he moves that makes the motion look effortless. He waves at a few people as they leave, and Scott pats him on the shoulder.

“If you give me five minutes, you can meet him,” Boyd says, and Derek turns his gaze back to the two managers.

“Yes,” Erica says, before Derek can respond, and Boyd nods and starts walking down the steps at an unhurried pace. As soon as he’s out of earshot, Erica turns on Derek. “I swear to god, Derek, if you decide not to partner with this guy before you even _meet_ him, I’m going to put a very unpleasant part of your body onto the ice at your next practice.”

Derek doesn’t doubt her.

“He’s not terrible,” he says, and Erica rolls her eyes, “but he didn’t do any difficult moves.”

“Yeah, because this is a high school, not the freaking US Championships!” Erica looks like she wants to throw her hands up in the air. “God, you’re really insulting my pride as a manager, you know that? You think I didn’t research this guy before contacting his rep?”

“Of course I know that you researched him—” Derek starts, and Erica cuts him off with a huff and an accusatory finger.

“Then why are you doubting my skills? This kid is good, Derek. I don’t care if you need to see him do a Triple Lutz–Triple Loop combination fifty thousand times before you believe it, but at least have some faith in _me,_ Jesus.”   

“Sorry,” Derek mutters, because he is, and Erica sighs.

“Let’s just meet him, ok? If you hate his personality, I’ll give it up.”

“Ok,” Derek cedes, and his manager lets out a small breath of relief. Derek would feel bad about what he put her through if he didn’t pay her inordinate amounts of money. They make their way down the stairs, and Derek sees Boyd talking to Stiles across the rink. Stiles looks up at him right as Derek is in the middle of watching, and their eyes meet.

Derek jerks his gaze away.

When they approach the edge of the rink railing, Stiles is talking to Scott again. The floppy-haired young man nods in their direction, and Stiles glances over his shoulder and smiles. Derek’s stomach flips as Stiles glides towards them across the ice, because now that he’s closer, Derek can see that Stiles is undeniably attractive. He can’t be much shorter than Derek, his body showing clear muscular definition on his thin frame. His styled brown hair is a bit rumpled and sweaty from skating, and his pale face is dotted with freckles, and _Derek is screwed_.   

It doesn’t help that as soon as Stiles gets to the rail, his warm brown eyes glance quickly over Derek’s body, and he bites the bottom of his pink lip.

“Hi!” he says, voice nearly matching Scott’s in cheeriness, and holds out his hand.

It takes a few seconds for Derek’s brain to work, because he’s completely thrown off by how striking he finds Stiles up close, but he eventually shakes his hand.

“Derek,” he says, and Stiles looks him over again. It doesn’t feel predatory, though—not in the way some people sometimes look at Derek.

“Classically trained?” Stiles asks, and Derek feels stupid for wondering if Stiles is checking him out, because he was just redirected to the much more logical explanation.

“Yeah.”

Stiles nods, doing a few little pivots in the ice. He doesn’t seem particularly offput by Derek’s one-word answers so far. “It’s nice to meet you. Where are you from?”

Derek is very bad at small talk. He glances to Erica for help, but she and Boyd are talking too far away for any attempts to get her attention to appear natural. He sees Scott behind them, staring at Derek with squinted eyes, and turns his own back to Stiles.

“Northern California.”

“Oh, cool!” Stiles says, and smiles. “I have some family from up there. Super expensive to visit. But I’ve lived in LA with my family for about ten years, now, so I’m not one to talk I guess. Hey, are you ok with gay people?”

Derek blinks, because he was following the conversation until that last part, and he stutters as his brain tries to reboot. “What—uh—”

Stiles waves his hands in a broad gesture. “Gay people. Queer folks. Y’know: playing for the same team, or multiple teams, or, well, I guess also no team at all, or-- ok, I think you get the point. I just figured I should get the elephant in the room out of the way. I know that _you_ know about the lawsuit. Everyone knows about the lawsuit, but no one talks about it, so, let’s talk about it. Are you chill with gay people?”

“Yes,” Derek says, still stunned, and clears his throat.

“Cool. I’m not gay, by the way. I’m bisexual. Probably another thing we should get out of the way if you plan to skate with me, because Boyd tells me you’re interested in pairing up for 2022. If you’re going to be weird about it, then I don’t want to pair up. I don’t have time to deal with fragile masculinity.”

Dear lord.  

“No—I’m—I don’t care about any of that.”

Stiles looks closely at him, then grins. “Awesome! Well, I’m glad that part is over. You’re Derek _Hale,_ right? I think I heard about you last year, when you scored a perfect on the TES for The Los Angeles Open Championships. Impressive. Heard you got docked on your expression PCS though, so we would need to work on that. How is your sister doing?”

Derek feels like his brain might shut off from shock any moment now. “Good,” he says, and Stiles nods along like Derek has actually been an active contributor to this conversation.

“Sucks that she got injured. I heard of this new therapy they’re trying for skaters who injure their legs like she did. Kira was looking into it, but it’s really expensive, and I think she wants to try and take things a bit slower, too. No point in rushing recovery, right?”

“Right,” Derek echoes, because he’s still stunned. Plus, he gets the feeling Stiles is chatty and doesn’t need much prompting to keep talking.

He’s correct.

“Oh, yeah—my point of that was that I can give you the company contact info for the treatment, if you want. I’m sure she’s recovering well, but, y’know, it never hurts to have options. So what are you aiming for in 2022? You did solo before, right? Why pair now?”

“Competition is too tough,” he admits, and Stiles grimaces.

“Ain’t that the truth. Fucking Greenburg.”

Derek would be lying if he said he disagreed with that sentiment.  

“Well, you seem like the strong, silent type,” Stiles says, and Derek flushes. This guy clearly has no filter from his brain to his perfect mouth, and Derek doesn’t know if he can handle that.

“You seem like the kind of person who overshares at parties,” he snipes back, and freezes; but to his surprise, Stiles throws back his head and laughs.

“Oh man, you have no idea.” Stiles grins, like Derek didn’t just say something really rude, and takes another gulp of water. “So, what do you think? Do you want to pair up?”

Derek tries not to gape at him. “You haven’t even seen me skate.”

Stiles shrugs. “Don’t really need to. You need a partner because you want to at least get a shot at the qualifiers, and I need a partner who isn’t a girl because Kira will murder me if I replace her with anyone who doesn’t make a statement about equality, and Boyd let me know we were going to meet so I already looked you up online. What do you say?”

“You seem trained in ice dancing,” Derek says, because that was a _lot_ all at once. Stiles nods.

“Yep.” He pops the p when he says it. “Since I was seven. Started a little late, but not as late as you, so.”

Derek isn’t sure if he should be insulted, because the words could be mean but Stiles says them without any judgement or mirth. “Well, my background is figure skating. So I want to enter in that.”

“Because you’re allowed to lift your partner over your head, throw them, and do some fancy jumps; or because you think ice dance skating is worse?” Stiles asks, and Derek kind of hates how direct he is. He’s right, that figure skating allows for more intense lifts and jumps. In ice dancing, you can’t lift your partner above your head, and Derek used to practice lifts with Laura so it feels like a waste to not use his full arsenal. That’s not why he doesn’t like ice dancing, though.

“I don’t think it’s worse. I’m just not very good at synching with other people,” he tries to explain, and Stiles looks thoughtful.

“Well, I’m good at figure skating, too. So, we could enter as a pair for that. I’m ok with not doing the ice dance. Plus, doing pairs free skate means we can use whatever music we want.”

Derek thinks about Stiles’ choice of music, and hesitates. He also hesitates because this is getting very real, very fast. Most people have either rejected Derek at this point, or he’s decided he doesn’t like them. Stiles' openness is new, and confusing—but Derek doesn’t think he’s a bad person. From him, that’s saying a lot.

“I need someone with technical skill,” he says, and Stiles’ gaze hardens a bit.

“Is that you implying that I don’t have it?”

Derek pales a little, because he didn’t mean it exactly like that, but he’s not good with words. “No—I just—I have high standards. I haven’t seen you skate in competition.”

“So, you think I’m not Olympic-level technical.”

It’s not a question this time, and Derek fumbles over his words again. “I haven’t seen you—”

“I can do it,” Stiles says. “You think that because I’m expressionist in style that I can’t hold up my end in a pair doing figure skating. Well, I can.”

Derek crosses his arms. His default emotion is annoyance, and it’s starting to creep in as a defense.

“Yeah, well, I haven’t seen that.” His voice is a bit harsher than he meant it to be.

Stiles stares at him for a few seconds, and his mouth sets in a firm line.

“Name a combination.”

Derek hesitates, glancing between Stiles and the others, who have started listening in on their conversation. Boyd looks curious for the first time all night, and Erica is glaring at Derek like he’s already in trouble.

“Um,” Derek says eloquently, and Stiles makes an inpatient noise. His skates scrape faintly against the ice.

“Come on, Mr. I-Score-Perfect-On-My-Technical-Element-Score. Give me a combo.”

“Do a triple axel,” Derek says, mouth feeling a bit dry, and Stiles rolls his eyes.

“Not a combo.”

“Then add a toe,” he snaps.

“Ok.” Stiles smirks, and cuts across the ice. He backs up from Derek, keeping his eyes on him the entire time as his hips (purposefully, there’s no way that’s not purposeful) sway and guide him away. Derek knows a toe isn’t hard to add to an axel, but he doesn’t want to ask Stiles to do something that could seriously injure him. Derek expects Stiles to have some kind of error on this, but he landed the double axel ok, so he should know how to correct and not hit the ice too hard.

“Oh, you’ve done it now,” says a voice to his right, and Derek jumps. The guy from earlier, _Scott,_ is standing next to him. He’s holding the hand of the other door greeter, the one with brown hair. She’s holding a bag of popcorn, and they’re both watching Stiles as he cuts through the ice, leaving little trails behind him.

“He’s an idiot,” the girl says, and Scott nods. He looks over at Derek.

“You’re kind of a jerk—you know that?” Derek glares at him. Scott continues undeterred. “But I think he’s ok with it. All the other people got really weird about the lawsuit, and you seem ok.”

“Oy, are you paying attention?” Stiles demands as he zips by, and Scott lets out a little whoop of encouragement. The conversation ends, and Derek isn't sure if he's relieved or annoyed.

Stiles comes by one more time, clearly just to make sure Derek is watching, and Derek is surprised to see the look of concentration on his face. Stiles moves smoothly over the ice, and Derek sees the moment where he decides to start the axel. He finds himself holding his breath.

Stiles’ form is perfect as he launches himself into the air, turning and executing a flawless triple axel—Derek can see the ice on the blade, and the way his leg comes down at just the right moment to press his blade back against the ice. He sees it all and looks on, dumbfounded; and, in the biggest _fuck you_ he’s ever received, Stiles follows it with a triple flip, a triple toe... and another triple axel.

Derek is openly gaping when Stiles lands and pivots, throwing his arms out and bowing.

“Holy shit,” Erica says, from where she’s appeared behind him, and Derek swallows. Yeah: holy shit. Two repeats of one of the most intense moves in skating, with impressive work sandwiched between them.

Fuck.

Stiles keeps his brown eyes trained on Derek as he comes back, but he does look over at Scott and the girl with a smile when they both cheer.

“Allison, Scott—give us a second, ok?” he says, and the two Alumni look at each other, shrug, and walk back over to the popcorn machine.

Derek shifts, uneasy now that it’s just them and the coaches, and Stiles leans against the railing.

“I told you: I can do it. I’m a strong skater, Derek.” Stiles’ eyes are determined. “I’m not as good as you in technical, but very few are. If it wasn’t a tough year for a newcomer, we both know you could do solo and qualify for 2022. But it _is_ a tough year, and you _are_ new, and you don’t have the popular support or attention needed to be an Olympic rep. I can bring things to the team if we pair. I won’t actively get in the way of your technical, and I know that I can bring in some of the interpretation and presentation that we need. I’m new, too; but I can even get people to like you, and us as a team, and I can guarantee that the people who are fans of me will become fans of you. But I need someone who I can trust, and who won’t be judging me from what I like or the things I care about. I can’t tell if you’re that person, but I’m willing to give it a trial month. So how about you think on it, and have your manager call Boyd within the next two days if you want to pair, and we can go from there.”

It’s quite a speech, and Derek isn’t given time to respond. Stiles smiles, all traces of prior frustration and annoyance gone, and pushes back from the wall to start skating again. He’s more relaxed as he goes, like he’s done what he needed to—and he has. Derek is silent, and feels both scolded and encouraged.

“I told you,” Erica says, and Derek feels a headache forming.

\----------

The first thing Derek does when he gets home is pull out his laptop and google _Stiles Stilinski._

He has to sit in the car for an hour first, listening to Erica lecture him about how rude he was and how he shouldn’t have judged a book by its cover because, “Derek you should know better than anyone that people are more than just the rumors about them,” and she has a point.

But Google has search results and videos, and he considers those more valuable right now.

The first few links are all about the 2016-2017 case of Men’s Skating Alliance v. International Skating Union, in which a 14-year-old Stiles was part of a group arguing that prohibiting male-male skating teams was unconstitutional under the First Amendment. It’s an interesting choice of an amendment to cite, and Derek browses through some webpages to try and figure it out. Derek reads the summary of the case, and knows immediately why Stiles’ name is the only one that people seem to remember when they think about the case. First, he was one of the few who was willing to identify himself by name. Derek finds this annoyingly brave. More importantly, though, Stiles has a lengthy testimony in which he claims that restricting him from being able to enter with a male partner is a restriction of his rights to artistic expression, therefore violating his First Amendment Rights. It’s so well-worded, and he says it with such confidence, that it takes Derek aback. It also took the court by surprise, it seems, because they ruled in his favor.

It had been a big deal for a lot of people. There were rumors at the time of institutionalized homophobia in the ISU—which all skaters knew it about, but no one did anything. Men skated with women, and that was that. No same sex pairs were allowed. It was archaic, both socially and physiologically. With the right body type and skill pairs, anyone could throw and lift; apparently, the Supreme Court had agreed. Derek had heard of the case, but he wasn’t thinking about the Olympics or doing pair skating at that time, so it hadn’t mattered to him. The Olympics had been Laura’s dream, not his. She’d been good enough, too.     

After he browses through some photos (one of which shows a courtroom containing a much younger-looking Stiles, with gangly limbs and buzzed hair but the same half-quirked smile), he moves onto the next links. He finds an entire subreddit dedicated to Stiles, which would concern him if it wasn’t incredibly useful. It is, though—so he lurks there for a bit. Stiles has a solid fanbase that seems interested in both his professional and personal life. There’s a mix of topics: reports of his scores, videos of his various competitions, endless theories about why Stiles participated in the court case when he’s never had a male pair (because he’s never officially said why, besides that it was discriminatory and wrong), and some enthusiastic fans who are not shy about sharing exactly how attractive they think he is.

Derek clicks on the video links.

He spends hours watching Stiles’ competitions, clips of performances, and anything else he can get his hands on. There’s not very much from Stiles’ younger years, with most of the attention starting when the case of MSA v. ISU was going to the Supreme Court. Derek pays attention to Stiles’ technique, the way he moves across the ice. There’s no doubt that he’s improved over the past few years, but he was good back then, too. He flows through his moves, precise and graceful in a way that makes skating look easy.

What strikes him the most, though, is the way Stiles seems to not give a fuck about any of the norms of the industry. At first, Derek thinks it’s foolishness that he sees reflected in the videos and clips. After all, it seems like he’s self-sabotaging. He sees Stiles twist his hips when he doesn’t need to during warm-ups; looks on in mild horror as Stiles does a backflip during a routine at the LA Mid-Winter event. Stiles woos crowds with songs that Derek would never skate to: a volunteer charity event where Stiles ice dances to a remix of  _Sorry Not Sorry_ and _IDGAF;_ a city competition from 2017 where Stiles winks at the camera as _Love Myself_ by Hailee Steinfeld plays in the background. There’s videos of him and Kira skating to the _Moana_ soundtrack at the LA Open, and winning Gold despite the fact that Kira acted in the traditional role of the guy.

The more he watches the videos, both solo and pair, the more Derek realizes that Stiles isn’t being foolish or sloppy; he’s being clever. He can tell which events Stiles likes by how much he pushes the rules. At local competitions, and events where he doesn’t need to qualify to climb up the figure skating chain, Stiles is all grins and easy moves. He’ll play music that fits the event, or something that is catchy for the crowd to engage with. He keeps his skating almost improvisational, and he’ll occasionally throw in a triple salchow or a triple toe combination, but overall the moves give off an air of relaxation. He still lands each move with meticulous technique, and when he messes up hardly seems to care; but there’s something _fun_ about those performances, the ones where he’s clearly having a good time. He follows the rules as long as he can still be theatrical and fun, and smiles with genuine eyes at the crowd and occasional judges.

In contrast, Stiles is _cutthroat_ at the qualifying events hosted by the ISU. It would be subtle, if not impossible, for regular viewers to notice. Derek, however, spots it by the start of his third video. He’s watching Stiles do a solo figure routine, and when Stiles does a triple axel, Derek sees a glimpse of his face. Stiles looks focused with a startling intensity, the same way he did when Derek hinted that he didn’t think Stiles was good enough. He lands flawlessly, and even though he smiles, it’s almost grim. The playfulness _looks_ like it’s still there, but it isn’t. It’s an act. Derek doesn’t know how he can tell, but something in his brain just _knows._ Stiles' smiles become practiced, and his body looks relaxed but there’s tension in his shoulders. When he makes a mistake, he grits his teeth behind the wide smile and gets a steely determination in his eyes. It’s clear to him: Stiles takes these events very,  very seriously, but refuses to show it.

He also actively misbehaves at ISU events. He picks music that is _just_ enough in the rules to not get him disqualified: an entire routine to the _Hamilton_ soundtrack; a mash-up of Disney music; acapella covers of older songs. Britney Spears makes an appearance in the soundtrack for his and Kira’s routine in the Regional Pacific championships, and it clearly makes the judges uncomfortable. (They got third, which advanced them to the sectionals. That’s where Kira was hurt. Just one more step and they could have been qualifying for the Olympics at the U.S. Championships.)

Solo videos after her injury show an even more determined Stiles. He emotes and moves his body in ways that are _near_ erotic, but not overtly inappropriate, and he clearly knows it. His routines are innovative and original, but Derek can see that he uses a shock value to make people underestimate him at first. Just like Derek did. The judges are forced to score him high because _he’s good_ \-- he toes the line with his skating, but they can’t kick him out because he technically doesn’t break any rules.

When he’s competing, Stiles is a laser-focused combination of muscle memory, skill—and a thirst to prove people wrong.

Stiles is giving the biggest _fuck you_ he’s ever seen to the ISU, and Derek hates how much he loves it.

He assumes it’s because of the fit the ISU raised about the lawsuit. Stiles seems like the kind of person who likes to play with his food, and it’s pretty clear he’s trying to eat the ISU alive. There are some judges he appears to go gentler on, and he’s always kind to his fans no matter what event he’s at; but the fact that he’s messing with the ISU is obvious.

Derek respects challenging authority. He gets a thrill every time he sees Stiles act up, because he could never be that bold. It makes his stomach tighten and increases Stiles’ appeal by several notches. However, it takes him a while to figure out if that’s a good thing. Derek as a _person_ finds Stiles fascinating. As a _skater_ , Derek is hesitant. From what he can tell, Stiles wants to go to the Olympics with another guy just to remind the ISU that he can. Derek wants to go for Laura. He doesn’t want bad blood between Stiles and the ISU ruining his chances at that.

At the same time, Derek feels like he’s underestimated Stiles’ ability to act. Stiles has never given a solid reason for challenging the ISU same-sex pair rule. Derek assumes there’s a story behind that, one that’s also pushing Stiles toward Olympic aspirations. But he can’t figure it out, because Stiles is slippery and uses humor as a defense mechanism in nearly every interview he can find. He says he’s had his eyes on the Olympics since he started skating, but the intensity has definitely picked up since 2017.  

He goes through the scores Stiles has gotten from competitions over the years. He’s surprised that Stiles still scores so well with ISU judges, given that he’s often antagonizing them. It points to Stiles’ skill, because Derek has learned that it’s easy for judges to be petty and prideful even when you’re being nice to them. There are some photos of Stiles next to some of his scores. In one, he has his arm around Kira. They’re wearing matching blue outfits, and he’s kissing her forehead as she grins. Boyd stands in the background, looking neutral as ever. They look happy, and Stiles sparks with life and determination. He scrolls further down, and sees Stiles by a hospital bed. He’s holding the hand of a little boy, who looks like Christmas just arrived in July. The boy has a Make-A-Wish balloon tied to his bed, and Derek feels his throat get tight. Another photo shows Stiles sitting alone, eyes tilted up. Derek knows he’s waiting for his score (which, he notes, looks like it was good). He looks contemplative, and Derek wonders what he’s thinking about.

It must have been hard, to lose Kira as his partner. Derek misses skating with Laura, and they weren’t even a team—just siblings. He’s heard paired teams talk about the connection and mental energy it takes to work together, seen them collapse into each other’s arms after routines. Even the most platonic of pairings is intense. Derek’s never skated with anyone else outside of Laura, and the idea of being that close to somebody scares him a little. Okay: a lot.   

He looks at the picture of Stiles, seeming so determined and eager to do the right thing.

Well, shit.

He calls Laura.

\---------

The sun is just _thinking_ about appearing when Derek pulls up to the rink address that Erica sent him at 1AM (and he feels bad for waking her up, but he lost track of time). He has his whole-wheat, veggie-packed, steamed chicken breast wrap in one hand as he climbs out, skating bag slung over his shoulder. The building is unassuming. This is where Stiles trains, though, so Derek thinks it’ll be more exciting inside. The gravel crunches under his feet as he walks, pulls open the door, and slips inside.

He can hear the faint beat of some song coming through the wall that separates him and the actual rink, but it isn’t nearly as loud as it was during the event last night. Derek is glad, because 5:30AM would be an unfair time to get another eardrum-splitting blast of Lady Gaga. He feels nervous. His palms sweat as he makes his way past the old vending machines and into the chilly air where he feels so at home; the chill calms him a little.

He recognizes the song, and is torn between smiling and groaning. Vanilla Ice’s _Ice Ice Baby_ is playing through the speakers, and it’s loud enough to hear clearly over the skates on ice, but not so loud that it drowns out all thought. As he walks in front of the blue stands and towards the metal railing, he’s caught-off guard by seeing Stiles right as he does a Kerrigan spiral.

Stiles looks sleep-mussed and happy as he glides around the rink with his leg raised high in the air. As he delicately lowers it, Stiles calls, “Dad! Look!” and goes into a triple flip. Derek looks around in mild alarm, and sees another man leaning on the railing.

“Nice!” the man says, eyes bright despite it being 5:30AM. He’s a plain-looking guy, with some wrinkles on his face and an average figure. His hair matches his tan shirt, which is embroidered with an LAPD patch, and Derek remembers reading on the subreddit that Stiles’ dad was in law enforcement.

As Derek stares on, the man takes of sip of his coffee. His eyes haven’t left Stiles, and no one seems to have noticed Derek come in. Stiles is still focused on whatever routine he’s doing, and Derek feels the illogical urge to run. It annoys him, because _he_ was the one who asked Erica for Stiles’ training times and location.

He realizes that the longer he stands here, unannounced, the more awkward it’s going to be.

He clears his throat, loudly, and the man turns around.

“Hello,” he says, and Stiles’ dad raises his eyebrows and looks him over.

“Hi. Can I help you?” He has a cop voice, and cop way of saying things, and Derek tries not to wilt.

“Yeah, I’m—my name is Derek. Your son and I met last night—”

“Oh! Derek _Hale_?” the man says, and Derek is surprised when a grin spreads over his face. He holds out his hand, and Derek takes it. “Stiles told me about you! It’s nice to meet you. I’m John, his dad.”

“Nice to meet you,” Derek echoes, and wonders what exactly Stiles said about him to get this reaction.

“Stiles was excited to potentially pair with you,” John tells him, adding, “Said you were a real nice guy. He showed me some of your past competitions. And your sister’s. Sorry to hear about that, by the way.”

Derek nods, unsure of what to say. As far as Derek is concerned, he was a real jerk last night. John isn’t treating him like one, though, and Stiles told his dad that Derek was _nice_. If Derek is what Stiles considers nice, he doesn’t want to know how he’s normally treated by other skaters.

“Oh my god, Derek!” says a voice from the other side of the ice, and Derek turns to see Stiles gliding towards them. His stomach does a flip, because he forgot what it’s like to have Stiles’ eyes on him _in person_ in compared to just looking at a video. Stiles is beaming as he comes up to the wall, and Derek sees how his eyes dart over to the bag slung over Derek’s shoulder. “If you had warned me you were coming, I would have brushed my hair.”

Derek lets out a snort, and Stiles’ grin gets wider. He leans against the railing, and Derek watches the edges of his blades. Even when he’s casually lounging, Stiles’ feet are positioned correctly. It’s a clear mix of muscle memory and skill, and he wouldn’t be surprised if Stiles is thinking about it but not showing it.

“So, did you watch enough internet videos of me last night to be convinced? I’m not talking about the sexy kind, though,” Stiles says, and if Derek was drinking coffee he would choke on it. He feels himself flush, and Stiles looks victorious.

“I saw your competition clips, yes,” he manages, as John gives Stiles a scolding look. Stiles shrugs his shoulders.

“I’m eighteen now Dad. Can’t control me,” he says, wriggling his eyebrows, and the man in question lets out a deep sigh. Stiles' gaze returns to Derek. “And what did you think?”  

Derek glances at John, and Stiles follows his gaze. “Oh! Hey dad, can you grab Derek a coffee? We need to have a conversation and this is where you’re supposed to smoothly excuse yourself, and pretend the shitty coffee machine takes a really long time. Maybe three minutes?”

John looks like he’s personally disappointed that he raised Stiles, but he gives them only one wary glance before he’s trudging to the vending machines. As soon as he’s gone, Stiles rounds back on Derek. “Ok, what did you think?”

He’s bubbly, and seems eager to hear, which is strange to Derek. Stiles doesn’t seem like the kind of person who cares what others think.

“I thought you were incredible,” Derek tells him honestly, and Stiles raises his eyebrows in clear surprise. “But I also think you have an attitude problem, and I can’t tell why you’re going for the Olympics.”

Stiles laughs, and nods. “Yeah, well—maybe you’ve heard about this thing called MSA v. ISU, in 2017?” Derek crosses his arms, and Stiles rolls his eyes. “Ok, ok. Look, I want to go because the ISU has kept the rules too strict for too long, alright? I figure if I can make it to the Olympics, then I’ll show them you don’t have to be conventional in order to be good.”

“Seems like more than that,” Derek observes, and Stiles narrows his eyes the smallest amount. It's subtle, but Derek sees it. 

“Yeah?”

He doesn’t say anything else, and waits for Derek to respond. Derek squirms.

“Is it because you’re bi?” he asks, and Stiles snorts.

“Shockingly, my entire identity is not condensed to what my dick finds attractive,” he says, and Derek backtracks immediately.

“ _No,_ I didn’t mean that!” he protests, and takes a deep breath. “I meant—the equality thing.”

“Well,” Stiles says, and seems to soften slightly, “I don’t know about you, but if me going to the Olympics helps inspire some kids who want to skate as a male pair, then I think that’s certainly a benefit. I have a lot of reasons for wanting to go to the Olympics, ok?”

Derek processes this. Stiles sounds honest. “This is probably my only chance for the Olympics,” he admits, and Stiles frowns a little. “I need a partner who is going to take things seriously.”

“I am serious,” Stiles stresses. “I _do_ want to go, and I want to pair skate because that’s what I’m best at. But When Kira got hurt, we missed the chance to go to ’18, and I thought I would miss out on 2022 too. Like, if _you_ can’t qualify for solo in ’22, I definitely can’t. So that’s why I haven’t been announcing that I planned to go to the qualifiers. I was going to try, but I didn’t have a lot of hope. Some skaters contacted Boyd to see if they could pair, but I didn’t like any of them.”

“And you like me?” Derek asks, the words kind of coming out on their own from surprise, and Stiles nods.

“Yeah. You’re like a big, grumpy GQ model with some mystery around you and clear skill. I can’t figure out why you are going for the Olympics when you didn’t seem to show any interest until a year ago, despite easily being good enough for 2018—but I kind of want to find out by pairing with you.”

Derek isn’t sure if he should be as hung up on the GQ model comment as he is. He tries to move past it. “Your style pushes boundaries.”

Stiles nods. “Yeah—because nothing changes if we keep doing the same thing over and over, and don’t think outside the box. I edge the line and I still do well. You’ve clearly seen my videos, and there’s no way you missed my scores. My technical takes a hit sometimes, but judges like my routine styles and expression.”

He’s right. Derek kind of hates him for it.

“I’m not as… bold as you,” he says, and Stiles tilts his head.

“Well, we can work with that. You still like skating and moving to the rhythms, right?”

“Yeah,” Derek says, because he wouldn’t be a good skater if he felt any differently.

“Then I think it will be fine. I’m not unreasonable, and I bet you’re bolder than you think. Plus, I’m an ideal pair partner! I guarantee you that I can bring rhythm. I know it’s not as important in figure compared to ice dancing, but synchronization matters, and our combination of styles could put a twist on traditional free pair skating. We both know that unity is a strength I have, and one that you’ve admitted struggling with. And I know I can learn technical aspects from you. I’m willing to learn and work as a team. I know this may surprise you, but I do _think_ about what I’m doing and why.”

Derek finds his shoulders relaxing a little as Stiles talks. It feels almost like a sales pitch, but with all the bullshit and excess promises taken out.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” he mutters, and Stiles wriggles his eyebrows. He swallows, mouth a bit dry. “And I’m sorry—about being rude last night. It’s been hard, to find a partner.”

Stiles’ eyes are bright, and he gives Derek another big smile. “Nah, you were fine. I’m used to people assuming I can’t skate. You at least asked me to do a triple axel, which is better than the double toes or single spins that some people asked me to do. So boring that it’s almost insulting. That, or they assume that I just copy all of Johnny Weir’s moves since I’m queer, too. Like, they could literally just watch our routines and see they’re different. Talk about judging a guy just because he likes to wear glitter and is up to date with current music.”

Derek feels a bit bad about that, too, because he _had_ told Erica something like that in the stands last night. He opens his mouth to apologize again. Right as he’s about to force the words out, he hears a voice from behind him.

“Ok, coffee delivery! Here I am, approaching very loudly! I am walking in! No more secret talking!”

Stiles laughs, and John appears from the door leading into the rink. Derek is surprised to see Boyd there as well.

“Derek. Erica didn’t tell me you’d be coming,” he greets, and Derek nods and shifts nervously.

“Thought I would pop in. Sorry for any inconvenience.”

“No—I’m pleased to see you.” Boyd doesn’t sound particularly pleased. He doesn’t sound upset either, though, so maybe neutral is his default setting. Stiles makes some grabby hands as Boyd comes closer, and the manager gives him an unimpressed look. “No, Stiles. We’ve discussed the no coffee rule.”

Stiles sighs, and throws his hands in the air. “And the no dairy thing, and high fiber thing, and the no alcohol thing—”

“Considering you’re underage, and don’t listen to the no dairy rule anyways, you don’t really have a good argument for coffee,” Boyd drones, taking a sip, and Stiles pouts.

“Feel the pain of what I had to deal with your entire high school career,” John says, and Stiles turns to him indignantly.

“Well _excuse me_ for wanting to keep your heart beating until you’re a ripe old age, Daddy-o!” Derek watches the interaction, trying not to be amused. “Plus, this is totally different. I’m burning, like, a bajillion calories every day.”

He feels a laugh bubble up in his throat, and shuts it down. Stiles clearly catches it, though, because he shoots Derek a satisfied look before shifting it into one of solidarity. “Does your manager have you eating the equivalent of a detox smoothie every meal, too?”

“What do you think?” Derek says, brandishing the wrap, and Stiles looks at it with a mournful gaze.

“Let our taste buds rest in peace,” he says, and John rolls his eyes. Derek, however, feels a smile tugging onto the corners of his lips. Stiles sways a little on his skates, and points to Derek’s bag. “Do you want to try skating together?”

“Sure,” Derek says, like he isn’t so nervous that he might drop something. “Should we wait for your coach?”

Something solemn seems to come over John, but Stiles just shakes his head and smiles. “Boyd is here already, and he’s my main one. There’s a few other solo skaters who I’ll share the ice with occasionally, and their coaches help me out when I need it. Have you head of Lydia Martin?”

Derek has, _of course,_ because Lydia Martin is the current frontrunner for the women’s free skate qualifiers. She’s considered a threat to Mirai Nagasu, the seven-time national medalist. She’s also been called the next Alina Zagitova, and Alina won Gold for Russia in 2018, so.

“Who hasn’t heard of Lydia Martin,” he says, and Stiles nods enthusiastically.

“Exactly! Well, she and I moved here around the same time. She left in Sophomore year of high school to go to Michigan, but we stayed friends. So when she’s in town to train, or I’m over at Michigan to skate on their ice, her coach will work with me. But if you’re waiting to meet another member of the Stilinski Skating Team in LA, you’ll be disappointed.”

“Well, ok,” Derek says, and tries not to frown. Not having a dedicated coach is unusual, but nothing about Stiles is conventional, so he lets it slide.

“I actually didn’t look into your coach,” Stiles says, clearly thinking out loud, and tilts his head again. “Should I be expecting someone other than Erica?”

Derek hesitates before he says the next words, because he doesn’t really like sharing, but if he’s going to work with Stiles then he needs to get used to trusting him. “My sister coaches me. We used to share a coach, but Laura wanted to be involved somehow after the injury. So now she helps me train.”

“Damn, that’s impressive,” Stiles says, and John makes a noise of agreement. “Ok, well, I’m open to using her too.”

Derek squirms a bit again, because he’s protective of Laura and doesn’t know if he wants Stiles to meet her just yet. “How about we skate, first, and see if we can even coordinate?” he asks, and Stiles makes a sweeping motion that conveys _after you._

“I invited you onto this ice, like, forever ago. You’re the one who wanted a coach, scaredy-cat.” He’s grinning, and there’s a playful note in his voice that Derek isn’t used to being on the receiving end of. It makes him feel warm, and welcomed—and so very flustered.

He lets out a huff, and goes to the locker rooms to change.

* * *

“Oh my god, will you _stop doing that_?” Stiles snaps, and Derek comes to a halt on the ice. Stiles barely avoids slamming into him, doing a quick pivot that turns into a three-turn as he backs up from where they had been skating together.

“Doing what?” Derek demands, trying to catch his breath, and Stiles motions wildly to Derek’s general body as he slides to a halt.

“Adjusting your spins to try and get farther from me! I’ve already told you, I can match you if you just skate like normal!”

The music, which had been blasting a remix of _Pompeii_ , lowers. Derek knows that if he looks over, he’ll see Erica glaring at him while Boyd calmly eats more popcorn. He doesn’t look, though, because he’s focused on the small bundle of annoyance that is Stiles Stilinski.

They’ve been skating together for two and a half weeks. Derek thinks it’s gone relatively well, considering his aversion to sharing space with or touching people he doesn’t know very well. That first morning, when Stiles and he skated together on the ice, had been too good to pass up the chance of pairing. Stiles had spun around him, grinning, and they both showed off a little as they sized each other’s style up. Stiles had moved his hips and done some triple-triple combinations; Derek had executed his own triple axel-sal with flawless precision, and Stiles had let out a cheer for him that made Derek’s heart beat faster.

When it came to actually skating _together,_ there’d been no doubt: if they worked at it, they could pair. The basics were familiar, once he got up the bravery to touch Stiles’ body and manipulate him around. Stiles had demanded that they try a thrown triple sal, which Derek was convinced they wouldn’t pull off—but they had. Stiles’ technique wasn’t perfect, and he couldn’t do some of the moves that Derek did; but he was willing to learn, and didn’t seem annoyed when he got some pointers. In the same way, Derek didn’t express in the way Stiles wanted. He promised that if they paired, he would work on expanding that particular skillset. Stiles had grinned at him, and asked his dad to play _Alejandro,_ and Derek had glared but complied. Overall, it hadn’t been a perfect pair skate, but it was astonishingly good for their first time. Four hours of skating had passed by without Derek noticing; he had signed a temporary contract to skate with Stiles by the afternoon.

Watching tapes of their practice routines, he can see: they can clearly synchronize.

Just because they _can,_ though, doesn’t mean they always _do._

“You keep going over two arm’s lengths, like you’re afraid our blades will catch,” Stiles continues, and Derek looks down.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, because he knows Stiles is right. Stiles is the only person outside of Laura that he’s had this kind of skating chemistry with, and Derek’s brain keeps getting in the way. The guy matches his moves like he’s been skating with Derek for a year, not less than a month. Stiles has a weird dynamism to his style that makes him feel like a jack-of-all-trades when he’s by Derek’s side. It took Derek at least a week to notice how Stiles seems to naturally cue in to his turns and jumps, coordinates to him on instinct even when they’re doing separate combinations.

He hears Stiles skate up closer to him.

“Hey, no, sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped,” Stiles says, and Derek likes that about him: he apologizes even when he doesn’t need to. Stiles’ hands come to rest on Derek’s chest, which is something he’s still getting used to. Stiles touches Derek casually and freely, and it’s clear that his experience in pair ice dancing leaves him comfortable with physical contact. Derek is acclimating to it, but slowly.

Derek lets out a slow breath. “I’m still getting used to skating in a pair that isn’t Laura.”

“Hey, me too,” Stiles says, and Derek knows that it’s an attempt at comfort, but all it does is remind him how good Stiles is at pair skating. Stiles is adaptable to a new partner in a way that seems unnatural in its ease. The feeling must show on Derek’s face, because Stiles wrinkles his nose. “Hey—I know what’ll make you feel better. How about you tell me how fucked up my edge was on that last camel position?”

Derek can’t help it: he laughs. That’s yet another thing he likes about Stiles. Derek doesn’t feel comfortable around many people, and finds even fewer funny. There’s a vulnerability in humor and joy that he doesn’t often give into. But something about Stiles clicks on that part of his brain, the part that feels amusement and familiarity with someone else.

“It was pretty bad,” he says, and Stiles grins.

“Are you boys done being lazy?” Erica calls, and Stiles swizzles backwards from Derek with a smirk. Derek hates how he teasingly swings his hips as he goes.

“Come on, let’s go again,” Boyd says, and Derek sighs. He already knows what Boyd is going to say. “Three, two, one. On the ice: Hale and Stilinski, with _Pompeii._ ”

\--------

It’s a Friday when the month timeline for the temporary contract comes around, and Derek is nervous.

Rationally, everything is going fine. He and Stiles are continuing to improve together on the ice, and they’ve only squabbled about song choices half a dozen times (It would be more, but Derek gives up after week two. He won’t admit that he kind of likes skating to something outside of classical). Additionally, Stiles seems to not hate Derek.

That’s what has him the most hung up, truthfully. Not only does Stiles not seem to actively _hate_ him, but he seems to _like_ him. He invites Derek to hang out after practice with Scott and Allison (which Derek always declines, because he’s not good with people—and Stiles keeps inviting him anyways). He sometimes sneaks a candy bar into the rink, and always offers Derek a bite. He’s upfront when they mess up, but never cruel. He grins and laughs at Derek’s poor attempts at jokes, and his hands are feeling increasingly comfortable on Derek’s body when they do lifts and spins. The other day, he and Stiles pulled off a back-outside death spiral, and Stiles was so happy that it was nearly contagious. Derek hasn’t pulled off that move with anyone else, ever.

It all seems great, and that’s why Derek thinks something must be wrong.

So when he gets to the rink, and finds Stiles sitting in the stands without his skates, he freaks out a little. A lot. He freaks out a lot. 

“Hey Derek!” Stiles calls, waving and smiling, and Derek’s stomach feels tight. There’s no ridiculous music playing, and the Zamboni isn’t out on the ice, so this isn’t unplanned.

“Hi,” he says, and Stiles pats the blue plastic seat next to him. Derek glances back at the rink, dread settling in his bones, and forces himself to climb the stairs. As he scoots over to where Stiles is sprawled out, he notices two pieces of paper.

“Time for twenty questions,” Stiles sing-songs, and Derek furrows his eyebrows in confusion. Stiles impatiently pats the bench again. “Come _on,_ Derek. Sit down. Aren’t your feet blistered enough from skating anyways?”

He has a point. Derek sits down, and takes the paper Stiles gives him.

 _A CONTRACT FOR TWENTY QUESTIONS WITH STILES STILINSKI_ it says, and Derek glances at Stiles to see he has an identical copy.

“What is this?” he asks, and Stiles doesn’t stop grinning.

“Well, I figure we should officially do a team-bonding activity before we sign the official contract to pair for 2022, yeah?”

Just like that, all the anxiety rushes out of Derek.

Stiles wants to pair with him.

“You are such a brat,” he says, but even he can hear the relief in his tone. Stiles laughs.

“No, I’m just curious about you. C’mon, sign this one so we can get onto the real thing. I sent Boyd out to get coffee, even though he’s an asshole and won’t bring _me_ any, so I think we have a good hour because he only goes to those places where they do pour-over or whatever fancy shit costs $12 a cup.”

Derek glances over the “contract,” noting some actual rules in it. No questions about family unless the opportunity is offered; participants are free to ask to skip a question; and—

“I am _not_ telling you about my sex life,” Derek says, reading the small font that says _past romantic history is open for inquiry,_ and Stiles cackles.

“Well, I’m a virgin, so that wouldn’t be fun anyways,” Stiles chirps, and Derek tries not to flush. He fails. “So, want to play?”

“Do I have a choice?” Derek sighs, and Stiles seems to get serious for a second.

“I mean, we don’t have to. This isn’t actually required for me to want to pair skate with you. I just thought it could be fun. But if you don’t want to—”

“No, I’ll do it,” Derek says, because he finds that he actually doesn’t mind the idea. Stiles looks closely at him, like he’s looking for a lie, before he seems to accept the words.

“Yay! Ok, me first.”

“Selfish,” Derek mutters, and Stiles just smirks.

“What’s your favorite color?”

Derek almost rolls his eyes. “Seriously?” The look Stiles gives him makes him sigh. “Ok. It’s green. You?”

“Pink,” Stiles says, and Derek glares at him. Stiles grins. “Ok, you caught me. It’s silver.”

“Thought you would be more of a gold person,” Derek quips, and Stiles laughs. “My turn, then. Cats or dogs?”

“Dogs,” Stiles says immediately, and Derek nods.

“What about other animals?”

Stiles shudders. “Don’t even get me started on lizards, dude. Those fuckers creep me out. I once had this nightmare that I was running from this giant lizard, and it had these gnarly teeth, and I fell into a pool. Turns out I had wet the bed.” At Derek’s wide-eyed look, he adds, “I was five. Anyways! You just asked two questions, so now _I_ get two in a row. Ha! Ok, one: if you could have any kind of coffee, what would it be?”

They exchange harmless questions for a little bit. Stiles’ favorite food is burgers, but he doesn’t eat them because his dad gets jealous. He also really likes soft-serve ice cream, and is horrified when Derek says he’s not really a sweets person. Derek admits that he used to have a crush on Nala from the Lion King when he was a kid, and Stiles laughs for a solid minute before admitting he thought Kovu from the second movie was a classic bad boy sex icon. They get into question seventeen from each of them before Stiles hesitates.

“You don’t have to answer this one, but, why did you decide to go for the Olympics? You never told me.”

Derek stops, sobering. He clearly remembers that he can ask to skip a question if he wants to. He finds, however, that he doesn’t.

“Laura always wanted to go to the Olympics,” he says, and gazes out at the ice rink. He takes a deep breath, savoring the cold air. “When she got injured, her dreams got destroyed. I figured that if I could make it there, and have her be the coach who helped me, then maybe she could still fulfil part of that.”

Stiles is quiet for a moment, and Derek fidgets. “Wow,” he says eventually, and clears his throat. It’s more serious than Derek has seen Stiles anytime outside of their focused moments in practice. “That’s really… beautiful. And kind.”

“She’s my sister,” Derek says, because that’s enough of an explanation. He doesn’t know why he feels the urge to add, “She and Cora are all I have left.”

It feels weird to say the words out loud, but the fact that he’s saying them to Stiles offsets the clenching in his stomach. Stiles raises his eyebrows slightly, and Derek can see the question on the tip of his tongue.

To his surprise, Stiles holds it back.

“Any overly-personal things you want to ask me, now?” he says, cracking a smile that isn’t fully genuine. Derek appreciates it anyways. He thinks back. There’s one huge question he still has, but he's afraid to push it. Still, Stiles can always just skip. He takes the risk.

“Why did you participate in MSA v. ISU?” he asks, and Stiles pouts.

“Oh man, I feel bad skipping this one when you told me something so personal,” he laments, and Derek shrugs.

“It’s fine.” He hadn’t expected Stiles to answer it, anyways.

Stiles makes a little hum in the back of his throat. “How about I make you a deal? I’ll pass on that question now—but if we make it to the US National Championships, I’ll tell you.” Derek feels his own eyes widen as Stiles continues, “And not just the bullshit answers I give reporters, either. I’ll actually tell you.”

That feels like a huge offer, and Derek is almost flattered to be receiving it.

“Ok,” he says, and Stiles nods.

“Sweet. Skip! Different question.”

“When did you figure out you were bi?” he asks, the first question that pops into his mind, and Stiles seems genuinely surprised at the question.

“Oh, dang—no one has asked me that,” he says, and gets a thoughtful look on his face. “Um. I think in high school, when I discovered that some skating outfits accentuate key areas.” He wriggles his eyebrows, and Derek snorts.

“Was it difficult?”

Stiles bites on his lip, which Derek has learned means he’s trying to remember something. “Sometimes. I mean, people automatically assumed I was gay because I skated, anyways, so I was used to the comments. But I was still in elementary school when gay marriage was passed, so I don’t think it was as big of a deal for me when I figured it out. Scott didn’t care, and it got me involved in a lot of organizations that I really care about.”

Derek knows that part. Stiles has done charity events for The Trevor Project and Human Rights Campaign for years. It makes him feel bad for never taking the time to do the same.

“My turn,” Stiles says, and starts to fidget with the piece of paper. “How would you feel about incorporating some closer sequences in our routines?”

Derek blinks a few times, and thinks. “What do you mean?”

Stiles shrugs, but doesn’t look up. “I miss being theatrical. The technical work we’re doing is incredible, don’t get me wrong. But—we’re _really good,_ Derek. Like, as a pair with chemistry. I think we could push things, incorporate a deeper storyline into our routine.”

Derek processes this. “You’re suggesting skating closer, and touching more, right?” he clarifies, and Stiles shrugs again.

“Not to push, or anything. Like, I get it: figure skating is intimate already, and I’m aware of that. But what if we made it _more_? We’ve been doing smooth sequences, and our routine is strong mechanically, but we aren’t touching or acting in the way most of the male-female partners are going to. What if we break down those boundaries?”

Derek has seen the pair free skating from past Olympic games. Male-female partners encouraged to incorporate non-essential touch during the warm-up for the routine; it’s considered part of artistic expression and interpretation. They’ll almost kiss, and press their bodies against each other, run their hands along each other’s skin like lovers. They act out love and intimacy for the crowd, because they _can._ After the first few seconds of routine, though, most pairs only touch to execute the various combinations and pair moves that are important for the routine. The next time they embrace is often at the end, right before the music stops.

Stiles seems to be suggesting they take more of an ice dance approach, where they hardly separate from each other. He wonders if they could pull off something like that while still hitting the figure skating requirements for lifts and throws. He imagines tossing Stiles through the air, how he would need to add a little extra push on his back foot to get to the exact spot where Stiles is about to land. Stiles would need to position himself perfectly, to land with barely an inch of wriggle room, to avoid crashing into Derek while still being close enough for them to grab hands as soon as his foot hits the ice. They would have to do that for every jump and spin. Closeness comes with figure skating—but no one has really tried it to the extent Stiles is hinting at, and definitely not between two guys. It would require them to meld their preferred styles together, while making both their intimacy and methods look natural to the audience and judges.

It sounds challenging.

It also sounds amazing.

“Yes,” Derek says, and Stiles looks shocked.

“Wait—really?” he asks, his voice turning a step more high-pitched from disbelief, and Derek nods.

“Yeah. Let’s do it.” _I trust you,_ he wants to say, but it’s too ridiculous of a sentiment for someone he’s only known a month. Granted, he’s seen Stiles every day for at least seven hours the past month—but it’s just a month all the same.

At least, he tells himself that.  

“Oh my god,” Stiles says, and starts jumping up and down in his seat. “You’re kidding! You’re totally kidding!”

“I mean it,” Derek says, and Stiles _beams._ Derek’s heart stutters a little in his chest.

“This is the best! Oh my god, we have to start planning songs!”

“I haven’t asked my last question,” Derek says, and Stiles just grins at him like an idiot.

“Yeah? What is it?”

His excitement is infectious, and Derek finds himself helplessly grinning back. His question is serious for him, but it’s impossible to be anything but happy when Stiles is practically buzzing out of his skin. “Can I have Laura coach us?”

Stiles pauses, eyes getting big. “Oh,” he says, and seems to get more solemn. “You don’t have to have her come here, if you don’t want.”

Derek doesn’t know how Stiles picked up on his hesitance to share Laura for pair training, because he’s never said anything about it. Laura has been bugging him endlessly at single practice with her, though. Derek thinks her particularly brutal combinations for him lately are a punishment, but it hasn’t been enough to bring her to pair. But Stiles’ plan needs more than what Boyd and Erica can contribute, and something has settled in Derek’s bones after telling Stiles about why he wants to go to the 2022s.

He trusts Stiles with it.

“I want to,” he says, and Stiles grins.

“Well then, hurry up and let her know so we can start endlessly calling Boyd over and over until he picks up and brings the contract.”

Derek throws his head back and laughs.

* * *

 

“Stiles, stop trying to skip the haircutter between your Layback and Biellmann spin. You need that as your transition,” Boyd says, and Stiles lets out an over-exaggerated sigh.

“You know, I think my dad pays you too much because you’re limiting my creativity.”

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek sighs, neither of them meaning the words they’ve uttered, and Stiles flips him off. Derek glares.

“Oh, lighten up, Der,” Laura says from where she’s seated on the stands, and Stiles makes a noise of triumph.

“Ah ha! I am finally the favorite,” he grins, and twists himself to send him shimmying backwards across the ice. Derek watches him, half-looking at his technique while the other half of his brain is once again stuck on Stiles’ hips. With a sigh, he takes off after his partner. Stiles likes to be chased about as much as he enjoys perfect synchronization, which is a lot. Derek is a sucker, and obliges him.

It’s a month until the 2021 Pacific Sectional Championships, which is the second step in qualifying for the Olympics. It’s been nine months since Derek and Stiles started skating together. In comparison to other pair teams, they’ve hardly even been together long enough to blink. But Derek knows Stiles’ body almost as well as his own, and when he catches Stiles and grabs his hipbones to slow him down, it feels so natural that he doesn’t even think twice.

“No fair,” Stiles complains, but allows his skates to playfully bump against Derek’s without sending either of them off balance. Derek snorts, and manhandles Stiles back to the center of the ice.

“Come on, do you really want Erica to start scolding us?” he asks, and Stiles laughs.

“Oh no, words! How we will survive the pain?”

“Do you two _have_ to be so impossible?” Erica calls out, right on cue, and Derek shoots Stiles a look that says _I told you so._ Stiles just smirks, and slides back against Derek’s chest to get into position.

They’re practicing one of the three routines that they have prepared for sectionals, because Stiles wants to be unpredictable up until the last moment. It’s not like it hasn’t worked well for them: over the past three months that they’ve been actually going out and doing events, they’ve gained some attention. They announced as an official pair back in August, just a few months before Regional competitions, and dabbled in a few casual events to practice in front of a crowd. Derek has been surprised at the warm reception; Erica and Laura have not, and Boyd has so far offered no comment. Actual regionals had been nearly stunning. Well—the regionals had been normal, in terms of competitions. What had been stunning was _Derek and Stiles._

They’d been working endlessly on a routine to _Love So Soft_ by Kelly Clarkson _,_ because by that time Derek had been skating with Stiles for over half a year and he didn’t care that much about the music choice. All he cared about was skating with him, perfecting what they were doing. Stiles had wanted to keep their technique traditional for this first competition, and Derek had known it was because Stiles wanted to come in and surprise the judges in sectionals if they qualified. He’d agreed, because he’s started getting an intense feeling of satisfaction at the thought of being underestimated, only to blow people away later. He gets why Stiles loves doing it so much.  

When it came time to compete, Stiles had turned to him with a grin.

“You ready, big guy?”

Derek had felt the nerves in his stomach.

“Yeah,” he’d said, and Stiles had linked their arms while they waited to be called to the ice.

They focused on basic techniques, because they didn’t fully have the thrown triple combos down yet, so it wasn’t a particularly shocking performance outside of the music and theatrics. They’d also gotten silver, only .04 points behind the Posey-Romero pair. Stiles had made them go to a place that served both ice cream and smoothies, because he remembered that Derek doesn’t like sweets, and it had been a _good day._  

Right now, though, they’re trying to step up their game. They both know that sectionals are going to be significantly more cutthroat, and everything needs to come together in time for a potential routine at nationals.

“Ok,” Laura says, and they both look to her for direction. “Derek, you need to speed up some after you put Stiles down from the overhead rotational with release to one-hand hold, ok? Stiles, you sometimes tense a few seconds too soon, and that messes up your double flip throw. When you do that, Derek doesn’t have time to be right back at your side when you land.”

“Got it,” Stiles says, shifting under Derek’s hands, and Derek gives him a little squeeze of encouragement.

“Ok,” Boyd says. “Three, two, one. On the ice…”

* * *

_A video is playing on an old TV screen at the local bar. It’s largely empty, and not many people seem to be paying attention to what’s on. A few people are gathered around it, though, watching as two skaters make their way onto the ice. The voice of a male commentator comes on over the speakers._

**Parrish:** On the ice, Derek Hale and Stiles Stilinski with _Helpless,_ from Hamilton. I must say, Marin, what an interesting song choice!

 **Morrell:** I would definitely say so, Jordan! This team is far from conventional, though. I don’t know how many of our viewers saw them at regionals, but there’s a few things that are interesting about them. They’re one of the few male-male teams competing in this year’s qualifiers, and Hale in particular is a relative newcomer.

_On the screen, the shorter of the two waves to the crowd and does a few loops near the center of the rink. He’s wearing a dark silver outfit that sparkles as the lights hit it, while his partner wears a plain black trouser-shirt combination. The shorter guy starts making the crowd clap, and the taller one rolls his eyes._

**Morrell:** And there goes Stilinski, with his classic fun-filled attitude.

 **Parrish:** Stilinski is also well-known for his role in MSA v. ISU, which allowed for male-male pairs in the first place.

 **Morrell:** That’s right, Jordan. His last partner, Kira Yukimura, was badly injured at this _same_ championship in 2017. It disqualified them from the 2018 Olympics, and she hasn’t returned to skating yet. It will be interesting to see how Stilinski and Hale flow at this next level. Their routine in regionals pushed very few boundaries, which is unlike Stilinski’s past routines. They need to make it past here to get to Nationals, and then they have a shot at the Olympics.

 **Parrish:** And here they go, getting into position.

_Hale slips his hands onto Stilinski’s hips, carefully lowering his face to the crook of his partner’s neck. Stiles half-covers his mouth, clearly whispering something, and Derek’s shoulders quiver with barely-contained laughter._

**Morrell:** It’s strange to see Hale paired with a skater like Stilinski. He is classically trained, and is known for getting a perfect score on his TES in the 2020 Los Angeles Open Championships. A perfect is _very_ hard to get, Jordan, especially with the triple-triple combinations he seems to prefer when skating solo.

 **Parrish:** Well, it looks like their current routine is planned to be quite a show of technique as well. Oh, and here we go!

_The music starts abruptly._

Ooooh _, it goes,_ I do I do I do, _and Stiles mouths it all as he runs a hand down Derek’s face. The quick beat blasts around the rink, and Stiles turns in perfect time with one of the beats to face Derek. He slides his hands down Derek’s chest, smiling with a look that can only be described as flirtatious as he moves his hips back and forth. Derek slides forward right as Stiles moves backwards, and they start to glide across the ice. It looks like Derek is being pulled by an invisible string, each movement matched flawlessly with his partner’s._

_Stiles splits off a few feet from Derek, but keeps their eyes locked._

**Morrell:** Some flirtatious music from this pair today. Pay close attention to these lyrics, now. See how Stilinski turns into a glide when the word _helpless_ comes on, the way he reaches out.

 _Stiles and Derek come back together, Derek’s fingers intertwining with Stiles’ outstretched ones as they connect._   _Stiles starts mouthing the words again,_ we were at a rebel with some rebels on a hot night,  _and he and Derek look like they're dancing across the ice as they go into glide, still holding hands._  

 **Parrish:** This coordination is amazing. Looks like they’re speeding up—maybe going for a twist? They’re a bit close, though, they better watch their skates.

And my heart went boom _sings the voice, and Derek tosses Stiles into the air right at_ boom _. The crowd screams as Derek catches him, hands on his waist._  

 **Parrish:** Wow! Huge triple twist to start the free program! Look at that! See the way Hale caught Stilinski, then set him down mere inches from his position? Clearly a practiced move from these two!

 _On screen, Stiles and Derek are back together again. They skate backwards around the edge of the rink, right next to each other as they transition into a seamless one-legged glide. Stiles grabs Derek at the words_  yo, this one's mine, _and they do a few loops, switching edges and legs and adding a few smooth twirls. Derek swings Stiles from the left side of his body, around behind his head, and into a raised position._

 **Morrelll:** Nice toe overhead lift! There’s a lot going on here, Jordan, that is truly hard to appreciate unless you’ve been watching skating for some time. Very impressive synchrony between their combinations.

 _Stiles places himself right in front of Derek, almost chest-to-back, and lowers himself right as Derek grabs his hips again._  And you look back at me and suddenly I'm helpless, _croons the singer, and i_ _n one smooth motion, Stiles is high in the air_.

 **Morrell:** A _massive_ throw triple flip! Listen to that crowd!  

 **Parrish:** Look at that synchrony, Marin. And they’re speeding up again—a triple sal three jump! Getting through some high-risk maneuvers here. Is it just me, Marin, or are they sticking closer than other pairs we’ve seen before?

I am so into you, _Stiles mouths, synching himself perfectly to the singer, and somehow manages to run his finger across Derek’s chest as they skate._

 **Morrell:** They really are, Jordan. You’ll notice that after their tosses, Hale seems to put a little more speed into his motion and is there when Stilinski lands—oh, there we go! Look at that double axel toss!

_Stiles lands on one leg, and his outstretched hand is right where Derek’s hand was waiting for him. The grin that splits across both of their faces says everything._

**Parrish:** What a dangerous move! Turning a classic on its head by adding that handhold. Has that been done before?

 **Morrell:** I don’t think so, Jordan! Truly incredible. Look at how Hale matches the singer now, the line “Where are you taking me?” Key to their next transition: amazing move coordination to the music, because Stilinski is leading him across now. A few pivots… Ha! Look at that little bow from Stilinski, matching those lyrics once more. Oh, here goes Hale for a spin, you can see Stilinski flowing into it—

_On the ice, Stiles and Derek execute an elaborate spin in harmony, skates so close that a mere inch would cause them to collide. The music builds, and they come out of the spin right as the singer transitions to the next verse. As they do, Stiles moves the smallest bit, and hooks their legs together. They immediately go into another spin, connected this time. Parrish and Morrell are silent, seemingly entranced with the rest of the crowd._

_Some type of acrobatic lift follows, and Derek holds Stiles horizontal as he lifts his own leg in a backwards glide across the ice._  

 **Morrell:** Great technique, holding that edge and not letting it turn forward. This is surprising skill from such a new pair.

 **Parrish:** Fascinating that they can work in the changing beats, too. This song is very dynamic, and requires very good timing—Oh! A side by side triple toes! Perfect landing from Stilinski there. 

_There's whoops from the crowd as Stiles looks at Derek and mouths,_ that boy is mine _,_ _right as Derek pulls him tightly to his body._   _When Stiles laughs c_ _lose_ _against Derek's mouth, a few joyous screams reach the mics from the stands._

 **Parrish:** That's some unusual expression from Hale! I'm surprised to see him looking so comfortable, past judges have commented on some stiffness. And here they go, preparing for that back outside death spiral! No male-male pair has done this so far, but there’s plenty done today that we haven’t seen before!

Down for the count and I’m drowning in him, _go the lyrics, and they start the spiral. Derek pivots, one toe anchored in the ice, and holds on tight to Stiles’ hand as Stiles circles him on a deep edge. His body is almost parallel with the ice._

 **Morrell:** Oh my goodness! I love this program on them, Jordan. Look at that chemistry!

_The music starts to slow, as does their spiral, and in one smooth movement they come back up from the position._

**Parrish:** This truly feels like a moment where figure skating transcends pop culture. These transitions are incredible. Look at how they're timing their movements with this more hip-hop section, switching directions so often. You know, Marin, this really reminds me of a modified swizzle from ice dancing. Oh, and we're transitioning to the next verse now, their routine is nearing the end.

 **Morrell:** Wow! Another triple twist, he’s adding that split to try and get difficulty points—

 _Derek catches Stiles halfway down, transitions him on the ice, and they go into one more glide as the beat slows._ _They go into one final spin, and come out of it with Stiles' back pressed against Derek's chest. They stop gliding, but the remnants of their spin continue as a smooth note echoes through the arena, the drawn-out_ Helpless  _that has the crowd murmuring._  

_They stop right as the last beat echoes through the rink._

_The crowd screams with terrifying intensity as Stiles and Derek end their routine. Their chests are heaving, and they stay still for a few seconds to make sure they're in the clear before Stiles turns to Derek and throws his arms around him._

**Morrell:** I’m not sure what to say, Jordan. That was truly game-changing, I never would have expected such an incredibly display from two relative newcomers.

 **Parrish:** I don’t think we’ve seen that kind of skill and boldness in years, if at all! If I were the other competitors, I would be nervous right now.

_On the screen, Derek is laughing, holding Stiles tightly. They’re both filled to the brim with relief and adrenaline, and Derek presses his mouth near Stiles’ ear and covers it with his hand, saying something._

**Morrell:** Lots of secrets between these two today! Is it hot in here, Jordan?

 **Parrish:** Well what _isn’t_ a secret is that crowd reception! They are going crazy down there. Let’s see what the judges think, though. Stay tuned during the break, you’re watching the Pacific Skating Sectional Championships _live_ right now! We’ll be right back with the solo skaters and those scores!

* * *

They place silver, and Stiles screams with unfiltered joy for a good ten seconds when they see their score.

“Oh my god!” he shrieks, and tugs at Derek’s arm he stares, dumbfounded at the numbers. A near-perfect technical, and a near-perfect program component score. No deductions for music. Boyd and Erica grab them both, and Boyd is actually _smiling_ while Erica is _sobbing._

“Holy shit,” he says, because _they got silver,_ and Stiles laughs and hugs him.

“We’re going to Nationals, Derek!”

Derek hugs him back, doesn’t care that there’s dozens of cameras filming their reactions right now. He hugs him tight and laughs and smiles so much that his face hurts.

_We’re going to Nationals._

\------

Derek doesn’t realize exactly how big a deal it is until he gets home the next day and opens his laptop. They’d spent the night in Spokane, WA, because flying right back from the championships felt like a waste of good energy. They packed into a hotel room to celebrate with friends and family (and Cora couldn’t be there, but Derek prefers she focuses on doing well in college anyways). Scott and Allison congratulated them with huge grins, and Stiles’ father hugged them both and cried, and Laura looked so proud that Derek thought he might explode from how good he felt. Stiles clung to his arm and curled up next to him on the couch and was a shining, steady beacon of hope and accomplishment at his side. He still can’t believe they did it. All that practice, all that training with a completely new style created from their blended ones—and they got _silver._ Derek didn’t know if they would even make it through the routine, let alone move on to the next qualifier.

He doesn’t think he’s had a better night in his entire life.

That being said, when they get back to LA he’s _exhausted._ Stiles clearly is too, dozing off with his head against Derek’s shoulder multiple times throughout the flight. It makes Derek feel warm all over, because this is _natural_ for them now. They wouldn’t have been able to pull the routine off if their connection wasn’t one of the strongest Derek has had in his life.

So, he’s naturally not thinking much when he opens his laptop to do a quick check of his email before falling into bed. He’s keeping an eye out for one of Laura’s medical bills, and doesn’t want to pay it late. What he finds instead, though, is 68 emails in his inbox and about 10,000 new twitter followers on the account Erica tells him to check occasionally.

“What the…” he whispers, and clicks on one of the notifications.

 _You and Stiles were amazing in the championships yesterday! Thank you so much for representing people like me,_ says one tweet, with a rainbow flag emoji, and Derek clicks on the next one. _I’m so proud of Hale and Stilinski for such a breakthrough performance!_ it reads, and Derek goes to the next. _Proof that two men can skate with equal, if not better, skill and emotion compared to female-male pairs._

He stares with wide eyes at the endless messages, the praise (and some homophobic hate) that is flooding his feed. He closes Twitter, moving to his emails. He picks one at random. It’s a request for an interview—an interview with him and Stiles, from CBS News. The body says something about a revolutionary performance, and tantalizing chemistry. He forwards it numbly to Erica and clicks on the next one. Most are interview requests, and there’s an email from his and Laura’s old coach. His throat gets tight when he reads how proud she is of them.

All of it feels so good.

His phone rings next to him. One look at the caller ID has him scrambling for it.

“Stiles,” he says, and the voice on the other end sounds dismayed.

“One: why are you even awake? Two: Do you have thirty million notifications on every single media site?”

Derek laughs. “My email is pretty busy. I thought I would check it before I went to bed, but…”

“Right?” Stiles says, and Derek can imagine the face he’s making. “Like, this is wild! The reddit is going crazy.”

“You check your own reddit?” he drawls, and Stiles makes an indignant noise on the other end of the line.

“The fact that you know what I’m talking about it means you checked it, too,” he retorts, and Derek bites back a grin.

“Maybe.”

“You’re such a weirdo,” Stiles says fondly. “Whatever. At least I have a subreddit! Do you know how hard it was to find information about you when we first met? I looked _everywhere.”_ Derek shakes his head in exasperation.

“Did you call me just to fangirl about how cool we are now?”

“I can’t believe you know that word,” Stiles says, and Derek contemplates hanging up on him. “No—I thought we could nap, and then you could come over to my place to pick some new songs. We need to start thinking about our next routine, and if we go in prepared, the less likely Erica is to try and strongarm us.”

“You don’t want to stick with one of the backups from sectionals?” he asks, thinking of the other two routines they had in case something felt off the day of sectionals. He thought they had agreed to use one of those at nationals, with some added difficulty to the moves.

“What? Oh! No, Derek—I’m talking about our Olympic routine. We’re already behind in practicing those, because we’ll need our short and free skate routines.”

It takes Derek a few moments to process what Stiles is talking about. _Right._ If they win at nationals, they’ll have to wait a month for the committee to decide if they want to include them as part of Team USA. If the committee decides to not switch them out with a past medalist pair, then they’ll only have a two-week notice before they’re being flown to Beijing.

“Oh, wow,” he says, and Stiles chuckles on the other end.

“Yeah. Feeling pretty real, huh?”

“Definitely,” Derek says, mouth dry, because _they’re one routine away from the Olympics._ “Wow.”

“Ok, so while you’re still stunned by that, how about I suggest we do Carly Rae Jepsen _? Call Me Maybe_ is—”

Derek rolls his eyes, and closes his laptop. “No.”

\-----

“Ok,” Laura says, clapping her hands together, and Derek and Stiles stand at attention in front of her. She’s seated on the blue bleachers as always, brown hair tied up in a ponytail. Sometimes, when Derek looks at her, he knows she could have done this a thousand times better than he does. “So. Your performance at sectionals was good, it really was. Erica and Boyd have been smothered with calls and emails, and while I respect your decision to wait to do any interviews until Nationals are over, you need to step it up another notch.”

They both nod.

“Who moved on in the Eastern and Midwestern sectionals?” Derek asks, because he’s been too overwhelmed to get online recently. A video of their toss-and-hold (as the media is now calling it, where Derek throws Stiles and gets to his side in time to grab his hand before he lands) was recently shared by Canadian ice dancers Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir. They were the winners of the ice dance pair Gold from the 2018 Olympics, and they had been stunningly complimentary. _True skill, boldness, and bravery from an already brave team,_ they had said, and the spotlight has been zeroed in on Derek and Stiles ever since.

“No one from Midwestern is a threat to you,” she says, “because they’re going to get replaced by the Knierms from last Olympic games. They’re favorites of the committee, so they’re guaranteed for the Olympics. It’s the Eastern sectionals that you need to worry about. The Mahealani- Lahey pair placed Gold.”

“Oh my god!” Stiles says, and Derek turns to look at him. He doesn’t expect to see the grin on Stiles’ face, but there it is. “Danny and Isaac placed! Oh my god! I need to text them!”

“You know them?” Derek asks, as Stiles wildly motions at Boyd to try and get his phone. Boyd ignores him.

“Yeah! They were—” Stiles stops abruptly, like he just remembered he wasn’t supposed to say something. “I, er, I knew Danny from when I was in high school.”

“Beacon High has created a ridiculous number of figure skaters,” Laura says, and Stiles nods.

“Like, a supernatural amount, am I right? Yeah, Danny and I used to have the same coach!”

“Who was your coach?” Laura asks, and Stiles waves his hands like he can shoo the question away.

“Like it even matters right now! What matters is Danny and Lydia moved to Michigan to get more training, and I’m guessing that’s where he picked up Isaac as a pair? That’s so awesome! It means there’ll be more than just one male-male team!”

“Which means you have to work extra hard to stand out,” Laura reminds him, but Stiles seems undeterred. He leans against Derek, who automatically adjusts his position to support them both without thinking. Derek doesn’t like the way Stiles avoided the question about his old coach. Not really contemplating the action, he slips his hand around Stiles’ waist to hold him still. Stiles shoots him a fond look, and his stomach flips.  

“I’m not worried about standing out. Derek’s amazing at technical, and I can usually keep up. Plus, Danny and Isaac don’t have the chemistry that Derek and I do.” Derek flushes a little at that, even though there’s very little reason to.  

“Well, you better start working on your reverse lassos and pair Biellmann spirals, then,” she says, and Stiles scooches back into Derek’s chest as Erica starts fiddling with the music.

It feels right to have him there.

\---------

“We could do _Despacito._ ”

Derek makes a face, and Stiles silently crosses the song off the list.

“Hit Me Baby One More Time?”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I swear to god, Stiles…”

Stiles crosses it off as well, then perks up. “Ooh! I know! What about that one song from Tangled, where they’re sitting in the boat in the lake, and all those lanterns are floating around them?”

“I’m not figure skating to _Disney_ in the _Olympics_ , Stiles.”

Stiles sighs. “I hate you.”

He doesn’t cross that one off the list.

“Ed Sheeran does stuff, doesn’t he?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Ed Sheeran is a _jerk._ He boycotted the 2018 Grammys because he didn’t get nominated for best album, and then they _still_ picked him over the amazing women who have way better skill than him. Including, I must note, Lady Gaga, who has two very strong songs on this current list of ours.”

“I’ll consider Lady Gaga if you take all of Brittney Spears off,” Derek barters, and Stiles looks forlornly at the paper.

“Bye, Brittney,” he says, and scratches out the songs.

\---------

“Oh damn,” Stiles says, as he and Derek walk into the rink. As Derek looks around, he has to agree.

They’re in Detroit, and it’s happening. The US Nationals are happening in a few days, and they arrived here a few hours ago, and it’s intimidating. Derek’s certainly intimidated, and he can see it in the way Stiles has been fidgeting more than normal.

“This is ridiculous,” Derek says, gazing at the massive stands and perfect ice, and Stiles nods.

“Like, how are there _this_ many people who care about figure skating? I know there’s all levels competing here today, but damn.”

“Don’t let your dad overhear that,” Erica says, glancing through the schedule that she obtained from the attendant at the front desk. “He’ll think all that sweet, sweet money he invested to have you slowly destroy your body has been wasted.”

Derek glares at her, but Stiles laughs.

“Art is pain,” he jokes, beaming at Derek, and Derek’s glare breaks.

“Let’s try to avoid the pain part,” Derek mutters, and Stiles links their arms and gives him a playful tug.

“Aww, you mean you don’t want me to get hurt? It’s almost like one of us getting injured could ruin our shot,” he says with a grin, and Derek sighs. It’s hard to communicate that Stiles is an endless pain in his ass through just a sigh, but he thinks he manages it based on the insulted look Stiles gives him.

“You are a child,” Boyd says, and Stiles groans as he turns to face his manager.

“Oh no, a responsible adult! Derek, quick—let’s run away.”  

Derek rolls his eyes. “I don’t think—” he starts to say, but a voice from behind them stops him.

“ _Stiles?_ ”

They all whip around, and Stiles lets out a loud gasp.

“Lydia, oh my _god!_ ”

He lets go of Derek’s arm and launches himself forward towards the woman that has appeared from one of the nearby doors. Derek stares at her, because he knows her. Lydia Martin, the skater who used to share coaches with Stiles. She’s had a ridiculously good season, scoring perfect in women’s senior solos at regionals _and_ sectionals. That means she already has two Golds under her belt, and is basically guaranteed another.

“Holy cow, I didn’t know you were here yet!” Stiles gushes, and checks his phone. “Why didn’t you text me?! I told you to text me!”

“Have to keep you guessing,” she says, a perfect smile and wink following right after, and Stiles laughs. Derek feels incredibly awkward just standing there while Stiles and his friend hug and blabber on, and he glances at Erica for guidance. She shrugs. Sometimes, he wonders if he pays her too much.

“Oh!” Stiles says, and turns around. “Lydia! Lydia, this is Derek. He’s basically the best. Derek, this is Lydia Martin.”

Derek’s brain is stuck on _he’s basically the best,_ but he functions through it. He holds out his hand, and Lydia takes it. Her grip is strong, and he shouldn’t have expected anything less from a skater who has made it clear she’s going for Olympic Gold.

“Your technique is astounding,” he tells her, and she gives him a careful look over.

“Sorry that Stiles sometimes brings down your technical scores,” she replies, and Stiles makes an indignant noise as Boyd snorts. “Oh shush, Stiles, you’ve seen him solo skate.”

“Stiles has added more value to my routine than I could ever have imagined,” Derek says, feeling a little bubble of protectiveness flare up in him, and Lydia’s eyes narrow. He feels like she’s picking him apart with her eyes, seeing things that even he isn’t aware of.

“Honestly? I’ve never seen a pair with the kind of chemistry you two have, so it’s clearly working out,” she seems to settle with, and lets go of his hand. He flexes it, because _ow._

“Are Danny and Isaac here?” Stiles asks, looking eager, and Lydia nods.

“Yep! I think they’re doing some last-minute adjustments to their routine, though. They were thinking about trying to incorporate more expressionism to draw some attention away from you two, but I convinced them it was pointless. They’re better suited for traditional figure techniques. Plus, no one likes a copycat.”

This piques Derek’s attention, because he hadn’t expected other skaters to seriously consider copying what he and Stiles do. It’s dangerous, and stupidly reckless.

“I can’t believe they told you about their routine,” Stiles laments, and Lydia smirks.

“One of us has always been the charmer, Stiles, and it isn’t you.” Stiles clutches his heart in mock-pain, and Lydia’s perfectly practiced laugh slips through her lips. They seem to spar with ease, and Derek feels like he’s watching a well-orchestrated game.  

“Well, not that it’s not _great_ that you’re still as annoyingly perfect as before, but we have actual things to do. Can you let them know we’re here, if you see them? I want them to meet Derek,” Stiles says, and Lydia nods. He gives her another hug. “Gah, it’s so good to see you! Maybe the five of us can get dinner tonight.”

Derek tries to figure out who the fifth person is, before he realizes—it’s him.

God, Stiles is so effortlessly appealing.

“Sure,” she says amicably, and Stiles bounces back and forth on his heels. Lydia smiles at them all, then flounces off towards the locker rooms. Derek watches her go, until Stiles tugs on his arm to get his attention back. He looks confused, and a bit pissed.

“Don’t check out my friend!” he says, and Derek raises his eyebrows as Erica holds back a snort. Stiles looks legitimately annoyed, though. Derek rarely deals with actual annoyance from Stiles, so he immediately moves to clarify.

“No, I swear that wasn’t it! I was zoning out.” It’s the truth.

“Yeah, I don’t think he was checking out any _women_ ,” Erica says, and Derek glares at her, because he’s got this handled. She’s too talkative, and he doesn’t want her letting personal things about him slip.

Stiles relaxes a little. “Oh, ok. Good. Well! Where are we staying? What’s the plan?”

“We need to meet Laura when her flight gets in this evening,” Derek says, feeling a flood of reassurance when Stiles latches onto his arm again as they start to walk. He’s back to his peppy self again, and Derek breathes an internal sigh of relief.

“Great! Well, that means we probably have some time to unpack and test the ice here.” He seems to think for a moment. “I should text Danny about getting dinner tonight. Hey, can we get milkshakes?”

“No,” the other three say at once, and Stiles pouts for the next hour.

They make it to the hotel, though, and he and Stiles are able to get a few hours of practice in. They know the routine like the back of their hand, now, but neither of them are taking that for granted. When millimeters can be the difference between the third and fourth, they’d prefer to make sure they can secure that millimeter for a shot at the Olympics.

Danny and Isaac can’t get dinner, but Danny texts Stiles back and promises that they’ll meet up on competition day. Derek watches Stiles to see if they’re being blown off, but Stiles seems to have no issue with the news. Instead, he and Derek curl up on the couch and wait for Laura’s plane to get in. They eat an early dinner of whole grain rice with salmon, and Stiles grumbles about it the whole time. To Derek’s surprise, Lydia comes in halfway through to join them. She settles primly onto the edge of the couch, and it’s not long before she and Stiles are comparing blisters.

“Eww,” Stiles says, as Lydia shows him a particularly bad one on her big toe, and Derek feels a smile tugging at his lips.

“Beauty is pain, dear,” she simpers, and Stiles laughs.

“You must be feeling fine, then,” he retorts, and Derek snorts as Lydia smacks Stiles on the arm.

“You’ve gotten lazy, because you have Derek to throw you into your axels,” she sniffs, and Stiles grins widely and reaches out, squeezing Derek’s biceps.

“You _wish_ you had arms half as strong as him,” he says, and Derek is thoroughly embarrassed. Stiles lets go, and he and Lydia start arguing over who would win at arm wrestling. Derek takes the time to check his phone.

 _Laura_  
**Hey, little bro! Flight delayed. Be back late :( Erica**  
**will grab me. You two rest! Need you bushy-tailed**  
**tomorrow.**  
_-Received 5:56PM_

Derek glares at the phone like it’s personally insulted him. Damn it.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Stiles asks, and Derek glances up to see Stiles looking a bit worried. His hand is back on Derek’s arm, and Derek didn’t even notice because he’s so used to Stiles touching him. Lydia is watching the interaction, her head cocked. Something about her face makes it look like she’s watching an experiment take place.

“Laura’s plane was delayed,” he sighs, and Stiles looks a bit crestfallen.

“That sucks.” He glances at Lydia, who is looking at him with pursed lips.

“Are you about to try and mooch off my coach?” she asks, and Stiles holds up his hands.

“Why would you _ever_ think that?”

Lydia rolls her eyes and stands up, grabbing her socks. “I’ve seen your routine. Maybe you should take it easy tonight, hmm?”

Derek scoffs at that, and Stiles shoots him a knowing grin. Laura would have worked them ragged tonight if she was here. He wishes she were here. It’s not as if one night is going to cost them _everything—_ but Derek feels better when he’s with his sister.

Then again, he feels pretty good with Stiles.

“Come down in an hour, and Deaton and I might be there.”

“Don’t leak our routine!” Stiles calls after her as she sways out the door, and she doesn’t even acknowledge his words. As soon as she’s gone, Stiles turns back to Derek. “Derek, this is a prime opportunity. No Erica, no Boyd. We need to get milkshakes _right now._ ”

Derek relents.

They grab their skates and outfits, and Derek shoves it all into his bag because he doesn’t mind carrying it. Stiles huffs and haws a bit about this, but calms down when Derek promises he’ll have a sip of Stiles’ milkshake if he shuts up. The whole thing feels like some weird home sneak-out, and Stiles is overly-dramatic about sneaking down the hotel hallway. Derek purposefully makes a noise by sliding the bag against the wall as they head to the elevators. Stiles looks betrayed.

They get a milkshake, and Derek takes the promised sip. Stiles hums happily the whole time, long fingers curled around the frosty cup. Derek tries not to stare at him too much, but it’s hard when Stiles keeps drawing him in with jokes and winks. He thinks through their routine in his head to distract himself, focuses on each beat of the music. By the time they head back to the rink, Derek has a few ideas of where he can improve.

When they walk in, though, no one is there. Stiles walks up to the railing as Derek looks around.

“Hello?” Stiles calls, and nothing but an echo greets them. “Huh. Lydia and Deaton are either running late, or decided not to show. Given Lydia’s obsession with punctuality, I’m guessing the latter.”

Derek frowns. “She didn’t text you or anything?”

“No idea. I left my phone in the hotel room,” Stiles says cheerily, and Derek wants to put his face in his hands. He must make a face, because Stiles puts his hands on his hips. “What? I have _you,_ I don’t need a cell phone to entertain me. Plus, it’s not like I couldn’t just use yours.”

Derek lets out a deep sigh. “You’re really impossible.”

Stiles grins, and starts toeing out of his sneakers. At Derek’s raised eyebrows, he shrugs. “We’re already here. No coach, though, so I thought we could just put on our skates and do some loops. Actually take it easy.”

Derek contemplates this, thinks about the last time he got out on ice for the sole purpose of relaxing. It’s been a long time.

“Sure,” he agrees, and takes off his own shoes and Stiles grabs his skates. They’re on the ice in minutes, and Derek lets himself slowly glide across the cold surface. It feels strange to be in jeans and a t-shirt, to see _Stiles_ on the ice in jeans and a t-shirt. Not being in their skating outfits, but still together on the ice, eases the tension out of his body. He closes his eyes for a second, listens to the gentle scrape of the blades. The cold surrounds him like a blanket, and it grounds him.

They do a few lazy laps around the rink, and Derek savors the way Stiles relaxes against him when they slow to switch directions. As he does a small pivot, Stiles breaks off from him and practically floats to the other side of the rink. It’s only when he’s been over there for a few minutes, practicing his swizzles, that Derek realizes he misses Stiles at his side. He wonders if he could glide over, or if Stiles left so he could get some space.

“Hey,” Stiles calls from across the rink, and Derek realizes he’s just been looping over and over in the corner while he thinks. He pauses, and Stiles slowly comes over to him. He pauses a few feet from Derek, and Derek sees something surprising on his face: nerves. It’s the face he gets two seconds before they’re called out onto the ice—but this time, it doesn’t disappear as quickly.

“What’s wrong?” Derek asks immediately, coming a bit closer, and Stiles’ hands naturally find their way onto his chest.

“Um, there’s something I wanted to talk about, actually,” Stiles mumbles, and he shifts a little on his skates. Derek glances around them again, at the empty rink and trails they’ve left on the ice.

“Sure,” Derek murmurs, and Stiles bites his lip.

“I know that I told you I would tell you the truth, if we got to Nationals.” Derek knows what he’s talking about immediately, but Stiles clarifies anyways. “I kept expecting you to ask today, about the MSA v. ISU case. Thought maybe you forgot.”

Derek hadn’t forgotten. He doesn’t forget anything Stiles tells him, and he certainly wouldn’t forget that. He clears his throat. “I didn’t. But it was a game, not an actual contract. I wasn’t going to prompt it, and you don’t need to tell me.”

Stiles shakes his head, distractedly tracing his fingers over the edge of Derek’s sleeves. Derek likes it, a lot. “No—I want to tell you. And if you meet Danny, it might come out then, anyways.”

Derek frowns without meaning to, but he nods. He glances towards the bleachers, wonders if Stiles wants to sit. They know each other too well, because Stiles sees him looking and gives a shaky smile. “I’m more comfortable out here, if that’s ok. Can we—do some slow laps?”

He slides his hand down to Derek’s, and Derek gives him no resistance whatsoever as they start to move together. Stiles is quiet for a few laps. Derek knows he’s trying to arrange his thoughts. Stiles very rarely filters his words, so when he does, Derek pays close attention.

“Everyone thinks I participated in MSA v. ISU because of my sexuality,” Stiles says, twisting a little so he’s slowly skating backwards in time with Derek, “and that was partly it, but not the whole reason. I care about equal rights, and I had friends at the time who were gay but didn’t bother coming out, because it wouldn’t make a difference. They would still have to skate with the opposite sex. And I looked at that and thought, _well, maybe we should change that._ I didn’t want future skaters only seeing hetero pair teams. Even if it’s platonic same-sex pairs, representation matters, y’know? But it wasn’t about me, or my sexuality. I thought I was going to be skating with Kira until I either got injured or we retired—I never planned to be in a same-sex pair. But when my mom was younger, she wanted to.”

Derek feels the surprise form on his face, because Stiles has never mentioned his mother. Derek had figured out around the fourth month that she died from cancer when Stiles was younger, but that was because of an offhand comment from John about Make-A-Wish. He didn’t know she was a skater.

“She was my coach,” Stiles continues, turning so he slides right next to Derek, “and she would have been a lot more when she was younger if the ISU had let her skate with the girl she wanted. They were really good friends, from all the way back in kindergarten, and their dream was to skate on Olympic ice together. But the ISU wanted them to skate with men, and my mom said that it was better to hang onto her dream, and keep it as a dream, than accept the poor excuse of one that the ISU was offering. She wanted to skate with her friend, and represent the strength of women when they worked together. They didn’t let her.”

Derek lets out a slow breath, because he can’t imagine how crushing something like that would be. He slips his hand onto Stiles’ back, and Stiles leans into it as he keeps talking. “So they never even got a chance at the Olympics, and they settled with skating at charity events and trying to do some good. It’s not like they were unhappy or anything—but every Olympics was a slap to the face. Then, when I was old enough and wanted to do what she did, she became my coach. That other woman, the one she wanted to skate with? That was Danny’s mom.”

“That’s why you shared a coach,” Derek realizes, and Stiles nods.

“Yeah.” He clears his throat, and shifts so they’re holding hands again. “My mom died, Derek, long before the rest of the world got to see same-sex pair skating teams. And I couldn’t let her dream die with her. So that’s why I testified, and told myself that if Kira and I ever had to split as a pair, I would group back up with a guy. Because they fucked over my mom’s dream, and I’m going to fuck over their heteronormative bullshit. And now no kid has to watch his friends or family cry about being disqualified because of something as stupid as the gender of the person they want to skate with.”

Derek halts them.

He doesn't give Stiles a heads up that he's going to, and uses the backlash force to pull him into a hug. Stiles is stiff from surprise in the first half-second, but leans into him and relaxes as soon as he realizes what’s going on.

“And when I met you,” Stiles mumbles into his shoulder, “I knew what had happened to your sister. I thought that, of all the people out there, you might understand the most. Because Laura had her dream taken from her, too. It wasn’t because of the ISU—but it happened nonetheless.”

“That is nothing compared to what your mother went through, and what you have gone through,” Derek tells him, and Stiles lets out a slightly watery laugh. He clicks their skates together.

“No one outside of Scott, Danny, his family, and my family knows any of that,” Stiles says, and his hands move to Derek’s elbows.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Derek promises, and Stiles nods. He rests his forehead against Derek’s shoulder.

“I know. I trust you.”  

They stand there for a while, and Derek lets Stiles just breathe. He gets Stiles in a way he didn’t before, in a way he didn’t even know was missing.

Stiles shifts a little in his arms, and Derek loosens his hug. Stiles looks up at him, and his warm brown eyes aren’t as sad anymore.

“That’s also the reason for Disney, by the way,” he says, and Derek tilts his head. “My mom loved _Tangled._ The lantern scene was her favorite. We watched it a lot in the hospital, before she died.”

Derek sucks in a breath, feels his throat get tight. _Oh._

His mind is made up immediately.

“Then let’s use that one,” he says, and Stiles blinks.

“What?”

“Let’s use that song for our free skate,” Derek says. “There’s the two skating events, right? Well, we can do something more conventional for the short skate. But when it comes to free skate, the one we actually care about—let’s do that song.”

Stiles stares up at him, and something twists on his face. He looks down, and lets out a slow breath. A sniff follows soon after.

“I know it’s a depressing story, but that doesn’t mean that song deserves special treatment. I know you were nervous about doing Disney. We don’t have to,” Stiles says, and Derek can tell that he’s trying very hard not to cry.

“We do,” Derek says, and squeezes his shoulders. “And we will. Stiles: I didn’t know. Now I do. So we’re dancing to fucking Disney at the Olympics in 2022, and they won’t be able to do a single thing about it.”

The hug Stiles gives him is bruising.

The pain is worth it.

\--------

Stiles lets out a slow breath, and Derek matches him. The hustle and bustle of the crowd easily reaches them in the locker rooms, and butterflies flip in Derek’s stomach. There’s only five more pairs left to go in the US National Championships, and he and Stiles are second-to-last. Boyd is coaching them through-last minute recaps, and Derek is just trying to keep calm.

“You two will do great,” Boyd tells them kindly, and it would be comforting if Boyd’s normal setting wasn’t indifference. He’s either being kind because he’s confident, or because he’s worried. Derek doesn’t know which one. Erica and Laura are outside, watching the current competitors, and Derek will occasionally glance at the TV in the locker room that’s tuned to the rink. There’s a pair of twins skating right now: Ethan and Aiden Carver. They’re good, but their routine doesn’t push any bounds.

Stiles is tapping his foot frantically against the locker room floor, clearly zoned out and not listening to a thing his manager is saying. Derek reaches out and grabs his hand, squeezing it to bring him back.

“Right,” Stiles blurts, making it obvious that he wasn’t listening, and it eases some of the tension in Derek’s shoulders. Same routine, same Stiles. They’ve practiced this, worked at it until their feet bled. They can do it.

“Stilinski!” calls a voice that Derek doesn’t recognize, and Derek and Stiles both look up. Stiles jumps to his feet, a big smile spreading on his face.

“Danny!” he sings, and launches himself at the guy. Boyd lets out a tortured sigh and gets up, making his way out the locker room doors as he concedes that he’s not going to bring anything beneficial to these final few moments.

“Stiles! Hey, nice to see you!” Danny is tall, with bold eyebrows and black hair buzzed on his head. He has a big smile on his face as he looks at Stiles, and the smile doesn’t falter when he turns it to Derek. “And you’re his partner! Nice to meet you—I’m Danny.”

They shake hands, and Derek glances behind Danny to where a tall, lanky kid is standing in the shadows. Danny follows his gaze, and lets out a sigh. “Come on, Isaac. I’ve been telling you about Stiles for forever, and Stiles has been telling _me_ about Derek for about as long. Say hi.”

The glower he receives from the brunette could sour milk, but Isaac steps forward. He shoves out his hand. “Isaac,” he grunts, and Derek is pleased to meet someone who might be worse at social interaction than he is.

“When are you guys going?” Stiles asks, rocking back and forth on his heels, and Danny glances at the TV screen.

“Right after the Carters. You?”

“Second-to-last, because some god gets off on torturing my soul and emotions,” Stiles quips, and Isaac lets out a nervous chuckle. He seems perfectly happy with letting Danny do all the talking. Derek feels a moment of solidarity.

The moment is broken when he’s forced back into the conversation. “I saw your routine at sectionals. That was badass,” Danny says, and Stiles half-preens. He leans against Derek, casual and comfortable in the motion.

“Just wait until you see this one,” he says, but his bragging is playful. “We’ve expanded some moves. Derek got tired of playing it safe.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I think you’re confused: that was _you._ ”  

“Basically the same,” Stiles says with a grin, and the words make Derek’s stomach flip again. It’s not from nerves.

“Well, I hope you two do well,” Danny says warmly, and Derek has no doubt the guy means it. For being Derek and Stiles’ top competition here, Danny is extremely amiable. “Hey, my mom is here. If you get the chance to see her, tell her hi! She misses you.”

“Aw, I miss her too,” Stiles says, and Derek is _very_ glad that they had the talk in the ice rink two days ago. Stiles is relaxed against him, but Derek can only imagine how he would have reacted to that reveal of personal information if Derek hadn’t known. “When we kick your asses in our scores, I’ll console her as she cries.”

Danny laughs, even though Isaac looks shocked. “Yeah, well, let’s just hope you get her to save some of her tears for when you two go on, because her eyes will need water to blur her vision from the horror of your poor form.”

Derek snorts at that one, and Isaac cracks a nervous grin. Stiles cackles. “Sounds like a deal.”

They all pause as the music from the TV ends, the Carter-Carter pair finishing their routine with one final flourish. Isaac swallows loudly, and Danny turns to him. “Alright, we’re up.”

“Good luck,” Derek says, meaning it, and Danny sends him a thankful look.

“Yeah. Seriously, Danny, Isaac. I hope you do well,” Stiles adds, and Isaac seems to soften a little. Danny grins, and claps Isaac on the shoulder, and they leave. Derek notes that the pair doesn’t touch in the way he and Stiles do, that Danny doesn’t go to reach for Isaac’s hand as they leave the locker room for the whirlwind of adrenaline that is the rink. The male-male skaters he’s seen so far don’t do anything the way he and Stiles do, though.

Stiles settles back down on the bench as the Carter twins come in, looking winded but successful. They scored relatively well, and are currently in third. If they can hold that position, they could qualify for the Olympics.

Derek has no plans of letting that happen.

“Can we watch Danny and Isaac?” Stiles asks, staring at the TV as the commentator starts to talk about how the two skaters got here and some of their signature moves. Derek nods, and he and Stiles stand together. They poke their heads out the locker room door, sound blasting them as they blink from the added light. Stiles takes Derek’s hand, and leads them over to a place where they can stand and watch. A few people shoot them looks, clearly annoyed to be making room, until they realize who they’re looking at. A few whispers float near them.

Derek and Stiles ignore them.  

Danny and Isaac give a powerful performance. Danny messes up his edge on one of the spirals, and Isaac holds Danny above him for one second too long during a lift, so they got docked for that. They handle being ranked fifth place well. Danny claps Isaac on the shoulder, and ruffles his hair. Isaac looks like he’s trying not to be very disappointed in himself.

“Damn,” Stiles sighs, watching them as they make their way out of the booth and back to their coaches. “I wanted them to do well.”

“Me too,” Derek says, silently marveling at what a good person Stiles is. “But at least if we place high, we aren’t costing them their chance at 2022.”

“True,” Stiles says, and squeezes his hand.   

\------------

They’ve decided to skate to a mix of Lady Gaga’s _Highway Unicorn_ and _Bad Liar_ by Selena Gomez _._ A year ago, Derek would have been bothered by that. Now, the only thing he thinks as he and Stiles are called forward is how thankful he that Stiles is by his side.

Stiles leans in as they get ready to start, presses his lips against Derek’s ear and covers his hand with his mouth.

“Try not to drop me,” he whispers, just like he did last time. Derek laughs, just like last time, and Stiles twirls back to press against him.

“Pick better music next time, and maybe I won’t,” he murmurs into Stiles’ neck, and he can feel Stiles grin.

When the music starts, he lets his muscles take over.

* * *

Their routine is perfect. Stiles lands his triple throw twists, and he and Derek are seamlessly timed when they go into pair arabesque spirals. As he holds Stiles against him in a spin, Selena crooning out her semi-erotic _ooooh_ in the background, Derek feels their synchronization so deeply that it nearly aches. Derek has never felt this connected to someone in his entire life. It’s like he’s breathing the same breaths, like his body is Stiles’ and Stiles’ is his. When he throws Stiles into the air as Gaga sings _we can be strong_ _we can be strong_ and he lands perfectly, hand slipping into where Derek’s is waiting, Derek _feels_ it. The way Stiles twirls and slides against him as the music blasts _Oh tryin', I'm tryin', I'm tryin' I'm tryin' not to give in to you_ is intoxicating in its execution. So is the way Derek lifts him into the air after, steady on one leg as Stiles is a perfectly balanced board above him.

Stiles grounds him, and draws him in, and Derek is so screwed.

Their last move is right on time and exactly where they need to be. Stiles looks right at him as he lands the final triple axel. His foot hits the ground perfectly on time to Selena crying, _with my feelings on fire—;_ he slides back to Derek in the half-second of the pause in her voice; and when he twists to look at Derek, lips parted in a seductive smirk, his mouth opens right on cue to complete her words – _guess I’m a bad liar._ His fingers trace across Derek’s face, and their eyes meet. The music ends as Stiles tilts his head up, and it’s over.

Derek knows they just killed it.

Adrenaline makes his heart pound in his head, and they just stare into the bright lights reflecting off the ice for a few seconds. They just did things that no figure skating pair has tried, succeeded in moves others have been unable to. The crowd is screaming, and the judges look stunned.

Stiles collapses into to him, and hugs Derek tight, and Derek leans down and presses his mouth against his ear. Hiding it from the cameras, he murmurs, “Guess I’ll have to drop you next time.”

They both burst into hysterical laughter.  

_\--------_

They get a _perfect_ score.

Literally.

Neither of them can believe it for a solid four hours.

\--------

“Oh my god,” Stiles says, for the fifteenth time that minute, and Derek just nods numbly alongside him.

“Ok, are you two going to celebrate at any point, or just sit there like you’re in a coma?” Laura asks, swirling her glass of wine, and Stiles let out a low whistle.

“A perfect. A. Perfect. I—holy shit, look at that lift you just did, Derek.” They’re staring at the TV, which is currently playing reruns of his and Derek’s routine. It’s been the only thing anyone at the championship has talked about since Lydia scored yet another perfect score herself in the women’s singles earlier in the day, and they’ve retreated to the hotel room to get some peace and quiet.

“Your axel was perfect,” Derek whispers, as the screen shows it in high definition, and Stiles squeezes his hand right as TV Stiles places his own into Derek’s.

“Look at that precision, Jordan,” says the woman commentator, and neither of them can tear their eyes away. “Let’s replay that back inside death spiral.”

The male commentator, Jordan, lets out a low whistle. “Marin, this is just incredible! See how they go into the spiral right as the music increases there? What a strong entrance—but the exit is just as big. The way Stilinski comes out of it and puts his hand on Hale right as they transition songs to _Highway Unicorn—_ it’s almost impossible to believe.”

“And the push-off as soon as that happens, the way Stilinski speeds as the lyrics tell them both to run?” Marin lets out a sigh. “Beautiful, especially when you know Hale is being set up to do his own triple axel. That switch back to _Bad Liar_ at the end ties the knot. Incredible choreography. See, this is what perfect quality skating looks like, folks. Innovative. Bold. Precise. Flowing.”

“The reddit is going to freak out,” Stiles says, and Derek laughs.

* * *

 

The thing about scoring a perfect in the US National Championships is that it doesn’t guarantee a spot on Team USA. Past Olympic medalists can sometimes skip the Nationals and go right to the team roster, which means that Derek and Stiles winning Gold doesn’t actually create a shoe-in for them. It’s the best they could have possibly hoped for, but other factors could get in the way. Their spot could be given to past medalists, and then they’ll be out of luck. The committee can take their sweet time deciding, too, so it’s possible that they won’t even know if they are part of Team USA until two weeks before the 2022s in Beijing.

They hardly have time to think about that, though. Between endless press calls and an influx of attention, Derek can barely think about anything more than getting to the rink each day. The combined powers of Erica and Boyd aren’t enough to handle the interest, because he and Stiles are apparently _pioneers in the field_ and _innovative artists._ Derek gets a deep sense of satisfaction hearing people say that, only because he hopes that it will put pressure on the committee to let them on the team. Then all the people sending him and Stiles homophobic messages will have to watch them win at the Olympics, too. From the way Stiles snorts when reading some of the tweets directed at him and Derek, it seems like he agrees.

They’re staying in Michigan for a few more days, because Laura and Deaton apparently know each other and are trading strategies. Laura was flawless in her solo skate before the injury, and it’s clear that Lydia’s coach is eager to pick her brain. Derek hasn’t actually met the guy yet, but he figures more input can’t hurt. It’s cheaper for Derek and Stiles to room together, so that’s what they’ve been doing. Derek is so comfortable with Stiles’ body and his body being a connected unit that he doesn’t blink an eye. Neither does Stiles. (Derek wonders, however, if Stiles’ heart sometimes skips when they sit close on the bed, browsing through their phones with shoulders touching. Derek’s does.)  

Right now, he and Stiles are taking a precious break from training for a few hours. Boyd and Erica are busy with the media and their calendars, and Laura is taking a nap, so they have a little time to themselves to breathe. Derek knows it’s only a matter of time before Stiles gets bored and asks to do something. While he waits for that dam to break, he busies himself with cooking shows on Netflix. _Great British Bake Off_ is exactly the kind of mindless, kind-hearted background noise he needs.

“Oh, man, I miss cake,” Stiles says, and Derek chuckles.

“Well, you can have some if we get onto Team USA. I’ll personally sneak us out to get some.”

“What a guy,” Stiles sighs, flipping over on the bed so he’s staring up at the ceiling, and Derek shakes his head. Stiles holds his phone above his face, in a position that can’t possibly be comfortable. “Seriously, I miss being able to eat what I want _so much._ Before Kira and I paired up, I would just eat whatever. But that was, like, four _years_ ago. I feel old.”

“You’re only nineteen,” Derek drones. He knows this because he was _there_ on Stiles’ birthday, and got him a massive Starbucks gift card wrapped in a pink, blue, and purple wristband that Stiles still wears. Stiles got him a deep green one when Derek turned 26, and some new pans for him to cook his meals in. He keeps the wristband on, almost always; the pots are well-loved, and have been key in his meal planning for _both_ of them.

 Stiles lets out a dreary sigh.

“My _soul,_ Derek. It’s _ancient._ ”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Well, depending on what you want to do for skating in the future, you can always go back to eating what you want.” He says the words without much thought, and is oblivious for a few seconds before he notices that Stiles has gone quiet. He glances over at him. Stiles has a serious look on his face as he gazes at Derek.

“What are _you_ planning?” he asks, and Derek sets down his iPad. How have they never had this conversation? How did neither of them notice that they never discussed anything about their future as a pair?

“I don’t know,” he says slowly, and Stiles sits up. He turns to face Derek on the bed, cross-legged and attentive, and tosses his phone to the side.

“I’m serious,” Stiles says, and Derek nods.

“I know you are. But I don’t know. Before I paired with you, I thought that I would end after 2022, regardless if I got to the Olympics. I’m 26 now. My body is running on borrowed time, especially since I started so late. I’m not like you: I didn’t grow up teaching my body to withstand this stuff.”

Stiles looks like he’s trying very hard to keep his face neutral. “So 2022 is it, for you?”

Derek hesitates. “Before I met you, that was the plan.”

Stiles looks down at his hands. “But now?”

“I don’t know. What are your plans?”

Stiles looks back up at him, a frown on his face. He bites his lip. “I mean… after Kira was injured, I thought I was done for. I was going to try solo for 2022 as a last resort, because I didn’t want to just give up, but… I don’t know. I met you.”

Derek wonders which one of them is going to say it first.

He’s a coward, so it’s Stiles.

“I just—I don’t want to just not have you in my life anymore after 2022,” he blurts, and Derek feels a fuzzy warmth bloom in his chest.

“I don’t either,” Derek says, because it’s easy now that he knows the feeling is reciprocated, and Stiles fidgets more.

“I don’t know if I want to do the Olympics again—I mean, if we get there. I guess it depends on how we score. Like, if we do awesome and they dock us for being a same-sex pair, then I’d want to try again. But… I don’t know. I miss feeling like I’m doing something outside of just giving a big middle finger to the ISU.”

“All of your charity work?” Derek asks, and Stiles nods.

“Yeah. I mean, I know Olympic athletes are great for brand recognition and social media power. But… you can only do the Olympics so many times before it destroys you. I’d prefer to keep skating with you without shortening our lifespans by fifteen years. Plus, like, how long has the oldest team stuck around? Three Olympic seasons? We could do better than that.”

Derek lets out a shaky breath, but it’s not from the lifespan comment. It’s from the fact that Stiles is implying that he would want to stick with Derek for more than three Olympic cycles—over six _years._

“We could,” he says softly. “And if Kira comes back?”

Stiles gets a bit grimmer. “I think we both know that if that happens, she won’t be skating at this kind of level. Considering that she shattered all the bones in her leg, she’s lucky to be walking.”

Derek gets that. Laura uses crutches for her injury when it flares up, which is often, and that’s also considered lucky. Skating injuries are no small issue.

“So,” Derek starts, and swallows. “You would want to keep skating past this? Even if we got Gold?”

“Especially if we got Gold,” Stiles says, and motions to the hotel around them. “I mean, once you do that, it’s basically only downhill from there. Unless you can defend your Gold, which is a whole other issue. Like, can you imagine how many people would be out for blood if we got Gold, and then came back _again_? We’d have to pick something other than Disney, too, which would be _boring._ Unless you finally admitted that The Addam’s Family theme song and Brittney Spear’s _3_ would be a great mashup—”

“I will die before I skate to that,” Derek drawls, and Stiles laughs. The sound cuts the tension in the room a little bit, and Stiles shifts so he’s settled against Derek. Derek’s stomach does that little loop it’s so fond of whenever Stiles’ face gets close to his outside of the rink.

“But… you’re on board with that?” Stiles asks, and his voice is quieter than it was when talking about the music. “Sticking together?”

“Yeah,” Derek says, and it feels like he’s being dishonest if he doesn’t add, “I’ve never had the kind of chemistry that I feel with you before. I don’t think I could skate with anyone else. And I would… miss you, if I went fully solo.”

“Right, yeah, good,” Stiles mumbles, and his hand comes up and tucks around Derek’s bicep. A glance at his lowered face shows Derek that Stiles is _blushing._ “I would—miss you too. And Lydia is right: I’ve gotten used to you tossing me around. It would be boring to not be thrown through the air at a million miles per hour every day.”

Derek laughs, and Stiles seems to recover a bit of his composure. He quirks a smile at Derek, and gets a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Plus, I don’t know what the Sterek shippers would do if we split. They might die of heartbreak.”

“The _what_?” Derek says, eyebrows furrowing, and Stiles looks delighted that Derek has no idea about whatever he’s referring to.

“ _Sterek._ Come on, sound it out.” At Derek’s blank look, Stiles rolls his eyes. “It’s the people who think we’re fucking, Derek.”

Derek chokes on absolutely nothing.

“What?” he stutters, feeling his ears heat up, and Stiles reaches for the phone he tossed aside earlier. His heartbeat pounds in his ears as Stiles pulls up the subreddit. As he reads some of the post titles ( _Video Compilation of All Derek’s INTIMATE Gazes at Stiles, 2021; Derek and Stiles are A Couple, And Here Are Ten Reasons Why; Any Recommendations for Sterek Fanfiction?_ ), he gets increasingly flustered.

Stiles sees his face, and laughs.  

“Yeah,” he says, and tosses the phone back to the other side of the bed. “So, clearly, we can’t let our rabid fans down. Looks like we’re sticking together.”

Derek tries to relax against the pillows again. Stiles doesn’t seem bothered that people are assuming he and Derek are together—and Derek doesn’t _mind,_ exactly, but it definitely makes him wish he knew what Stiles felt towards him. Is he not bothered because he considers it a joke? Does he not find Derek appealing, so he doesn’t mind because he’s never seriously thought about it? Or does he not mind because he sometimes imagines being a couple, too?

He’s saved from the nagging of his own thoughts by Laura, who knocks on their unlocked hotel room door and pokes her head in.

“Hey! Are you two hungry?”

Stiles looks at Derek, who looks at Stiles.

“Milkshakes,” Stiles says immediately, and Laura groans.

“No, Stiles. For the love of God.”

“Then nope,” Stiles says, settling back against Derek again, and Laura sighs. She looks to Derek, but he can’t tell if it’s for help with Stiles or to see if he needs anything.

“I’m not hungry,” he says, and she sighs.

“Ok, well, make sure to eat before we practice tonight. I’ll give you two jerks another three hours, ok? But I’m going to work you like dogs when you come down to the rink, and I expect you there at 6PM sharp.”

As she leaves, Stiles chuckles. “You know, dogs in our current society are pretty spoiled, so I wouldn’t mind being worked like one.” He yelps when Derek starts to stand up, eyes going wide. “Hey! The joke wasn’t _that_ bad! Where are you going?”

“To get us milkshakes,” Derek sighs, because he’s in love with Stiles Stilinski (which he needs to start admitting to himself) and is too much of a sucker to deny him perfectly reasonable treats. Stiles' eyes get all big.

“Oh man, we’re sneaking out?!” He jumps up, big grin on his face, and Derek has learned that Stiles loves the feeling of being chased even when he's off the rink but he'll never get tired of the pure enthusiasm Stiles seems to pack into something so simple. “Awesome! You’re the best, you know that?”

 _I want to be_ your _best, though,_ Derek thinks, but he nods. Stiles tilts his head, like he just saw something on Derek’s face that doesn’t belong; but he visibly makes the decision to drop it. Derek is both relieved, and a bit disappointed.

“Ok, so we need to go somewhere that has smoothies for you too,” Stiles chatters, as he loops his arm through Derek’s as they walk out of the hotel room. “And we should get a ton of that weird chia seed powder in it, because I’ve seen the look on your face when you get a smoothie with a few good spoonfuls. I would say that that’s a judgement-free observation, but it isn’t.”

His voice is comforting, and Derek finds himself relaxing as they get to the elevator. “You really need to learn how to like healthy food.”

Stiles scoffs. “I’ve hated it for years. No reason to stop now. My only consolation is that my dad still has to eat like a rabbit whenever I’m home—so I guess it’s worth it.”

Derek snorts. “How kind of you.”

“I’m a giver, Derek.”

As they step into the lobby, Derek is taken aback by how many press are setting up there. He withdraws on instinct, because _people_ and _talking,_ and Stiles looks at him with too-intelligent eyes.

“If they try to talk to us, let me handle it,” he says, and shifts his hand to Derek’s elbow to guide him along. As they start to cross the lobby, heading straight for the front door and sweet escape, someone calls their names.

“Stilinski! Hale!”

Derek freezes up, but Stiles gives his arm a squeeze and glances over his shoulder. He perks up a little, and Derek takes it as a good sign. He chances a look, and sees a stern-looking black man walking towards them from across the lobby. His hair is short everywhere but his goatee, and his blue-button down is unassuming.

“Deaton!” Stiles says happily, and turns them both around fully to greet Lydia’s coach.

“I knew it. Boyd warned me you would try to sneak out,” Deaton sighs, and Stiles’ smile turns to a pout immediately. Deaton ignores him, and turns to Derek. “And you’re Derek Hale. Nice to meet you. I’ve kept an eye on you and Stiles. Really nice performances at regionals and sectionals—and nationals, but that’s obvious. Has anyone ever told you that you could probably do a quadruple jump?”

Derek blinks back surprise, and Stiles immediately gets a look of pride on his face. “I’ve been telling Derek to try a quadruple Lutz for ages,” he says, giving Derek’s arm another squeeze. It’s true. Stiles has been pestering Derek to do quadruples for the past three months, wanting to work it into the routine. But they’re considered _the_ hardest thing a solo skater can do after a triple axel, and working it into a pair combination feels too risky.

“Only one person has ever landed that on Olympic ice, and that was a seventeen-year-old in 2018,” Derek reminds Stiles, who shrugs. “Stiles, I’m not as good as that kid was.”

“I think you could do it,” he insists, and turns to Deaton. “If I _don’t_ sneak out with Derek to get delicious, creamy milkshakes sent from heaven, will you help us figure out a way to work it into a routine?”

Deaton seems to think for a second—then nods. Derek tries not to gape as Stiles lets out a satisfied noise and starts to follow Deaton as he walks back to the ice rink.

“Stiles,” he hisses, and Stiles gives him an innocent look. A few press members are starting to notice them, but Derek only has eyes for Stiles.

“I’m giving up ice cream for you, Derek. You better be grateful.”

\----------

“I think you could work it in at the end,” Deaton calls from the edge of the rink, and Derek takes a second to breathe. Stiles is panting in his grip, too, and they lean against each other for support. Deaton has walked them through their potential Olympics free skate routine three times while Lydia practices her triple axels on the other half of the rink. It’s strange to see her mess them up occasionally, given that she’s flawless when competition comes around. 

“Before or after the dip?” Stiles asks, making his way back over, and Derek matches him on instinct. Their skates clack a little, because he’s not as good as Stiles at judging that perfect distance, but neither of them is focused on it right now.

“Way after. The last fifteen seconds,” Deaton says, and Derek thinks he’s insane.

“I’ll be worn out by then,” he says, and Deaton looks him over.

“No you won’t,” he says, and Stiles squeezes Derek’s hand. Deaton looks at both of them with piercing eyes.

“You have the right song to work it in: it has a quick uplift of the music right before it cools back down again. If you do the quadruple right, you can be spinning while the uplift happens, then land right as the music softens.”

“Right before she says, _all at once, everything is different?_ ” Stiles asks, and Derek knows _exactly_ the point, and he hates that it’s so fitting. Deaton nods.

“Yes.”

“What will Stiles do, though?” Derek demands, and absent-mindedly shifts so they’re a bit closer. “That would take two of us pulling it off.”

“Oh, there’s no way I can do a quadruple on my own, and a _very_ low chance of it even with your assist,” Stiles says, and Derek lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Then why are we even—”

“You don’t have to both do a quadruple,” Deaton interrupts, and glances at Lydia to make sure she’ll still plowing away. “If you throw Stiles into a triple axel twist, he’ll have enough momentum to land in an arabesque. Instead of going to catch his hand, like you normally do, you can use the time to speed yourself up and enter the quadruple. You’ll take off right as he lands, so you’ll time it to a music beat. You’ll land, two seconds before she starts saying _now that I see you._ Stiles will need to glide back and make sure he’s in your space when you land.”

“Like a reverse toss-and-hold?” Stiles asks, and Deaton nods.

“You like surprising people, right? Well, having you be the one waiting for Derek will certainly do that—particularly if we have you grab hands and go right into a chest-to-chest slow spin. Stiles can lip synch her words, too, so it looks like he’s talking about truly seeing you for the first time. You’ll slow to a stop right as she repeats the line. It’s symbolic. It’s romantic. It’s also extremely technically difficult, and could win you Gold.” 

Stiles turns to Derek, an excited look on his face. “ _Derek!_ We could do it. You would have a chance to shine in your technical, without me weighing you down.”

“You don’t do that,” Derek insists, and Stiles shakes his head.

“I _do—_ just like how you don’t express as easily when I’m not doing it with you. It’s why we’re a good team. But you and Laura deserve to show off all the work you’ve done.”

Derek feels a little miserable, but he doesn’t know why. “That’s a dangerous move, though. And if I mess it up, it completely costs us our shot.”

Stiles shrugs again. “I’m not going to make you do it, Derek. But I want you to know that I think you can, and that it’s a waste if we at least don’t try. Everything we do is risky. You don't cross the street without a bit of risk, right? Might as well lean into it. And Deaton’s idea works with the song.”

Derek wavers, thinks about their options. It’s a bold plan. All of the things Stiles and he do are bold, though. He thinks about doing a quadruple, spinning in a dizzying motion and trusting Stiles to be at the exact spot he needs when he lands.

Stiles trusts him to do that all the time. Stiles lets him throw him and lift him. Stiles knows how to match his movements, is aware of Derek’s body and its motions like he’s inside Derek’s brain.

“If we get approved on Team USA, we’ll do it.”

Stiles’ smile is dazzling.

\-------------

It’s 2AM when Derek hears the rapid knocking on his door. It wakes him from his dreams with a start, an automatic surge of adrenaline going through him as his body tries to process the noise. They got back to LA a week or so ago, and he’s gotten used to the relative quiet again. He glances at the clock in fuzzy confusion, reaching for his phone.

He jumps up as soon as the screen comes on, because he has _seventeen_ missed calls from Stiles, and one from Erica. His mind whirls as he throws on some clothes and stumbles to his door. What happened? Is Stiles hurt? Sick? Did someone online find him in real life, threaten him? It’s not unheard of—

“Derek! Derek oh my god, oh my god, hurry up and answer, oh my god—” he hears from the other end of the door, and he scrambles to unlock it.

When he yanks it open, Stiles is there. His hair is as wild as his eyes, and it looks like his face might split open from the smile there, and he’s _beautiful._

“Derek!” he shrieks, and flails into Derek’s arms. Derek stumbles backwards from the surprise force of it, the way Stiles squeezes him so tight. He steadies himself by throwing a hand out to grab the doorframe, but Stiles doesn’t even seem to notice. He’s like a jumpy hamster in Derek’s arms.

“Are you ok?” Derek demands, fingers going to skim Stiles’ body, and Stiles beams up at him.

“Am I ok?? Am I _ok?_ _Derek!_ We did it! We’re in! _We got in_!”

Derek stares at him, mouth agape, as time seems to stop.

_We got in?_

“What?” he whispers, so quiet that even he can barely hear it, and Stiles’ laugh is pure joy and disbelief.

“We got on Team USA, Derek!” He grins up at him, reaches for Derek’s face and cups it. “ _We’re going to skate on Olympic Ice!_ ”

Derek lets out a shuddering breath, and slams Stiles into his chest.

“Oh my god!” Derek gasps, knees shaking from the sudden weakness there, and Stiles hugs him tight and wriggles. He’s a ball of uncontrolled joy, like the best kind of dog tail wag when it sees you coming home from work. “Oh my god—we—”

Stiles fists his hands in Derek’s shirt, shakes him a little. When Derek starts to blink back tears, he realizes that Stiles is, too.

“We did it,” he whispers, and Stiles nods, lip wobbling from the surge of emotion.

“Yeah,” he says, and they hold each other and cry.

* * *

Derek and Stiles are working on their final few moments of the routine when it happens.

He really should have expected it. They’re only one and a half weeks away from the Olympics, and things have been going well. Derek has been increasingly landing most of the quadruples he tries, and Stiles has figured out how to get to Derek when he lands. They haven’t tried connecting with their hands yet, because it’s ridiculously dangerous until they both have their own part down perfectly. But they’re improving, and almost at the point where they can be confident about it.

Everyone around them is ecstatic about heading to Beijing in a week, too. Erica, Boyd, and Laura were obviously going—but Boyd bought Stiles’ dad, Scott, and Allison tickets as well. Given how much Stiles’ dad makes on his police salary, it’s a huge relief, because Derek knows that Stiles was worried about it. Cora is in school still, but he knows she wishes she could come. She talked to him on the phone for three hours when they'd announced that they made Team USA. It’s good.

Things feel good. They have a real shot.

That’s why he really should have expected it.

They’re practicing the part where Derek throws Stiles into his triple axel. They’ve done it a million times before, and by this point it’s considered one of their signature moves as a pair. Derek assists Stiles by tossing him into the air, right as Stiles jumps for his spin. Stiles is supposed to rotate three times in the air before touching down with his dominant leg, keeping his edge steady and form flawless. Normally when he lands, Derek will be there. But in their Olympic routine, they’re using this move at the end to transition to Derek’s own quadruple Lutz jump. It adds a twist for him and Stiles, and Stiles so far has loved being able to go right from his triple axel to speeding back to Derek for when the taller man lands. It’s a technical challenge for both of them, and it keeps them excited and on their toes.

It’s complex, and a lot to keep track of.

Derek doesn’t know what happens, but something throws off his balance as he starts to assist Stiles’ jump. Balance is based on millimeters of positioning, and Derek generally doesn’t have problems with it. But a chink in the ice, or maybe his own brain trying to process all the different elements, makes his balance waver for just one second.

One second is enough.

As Derek tries to assist, he doesn’t send Stiles as high as he was expecting. Stiles is tossed up, but Derek knows that he’s messed up. In the split second Stiles is in the air, Derek can see the realization on Stiles’ face that he isn’t going to make the three full rotations. There’s nothing either one of them can do, though, and Derek knows that Stiles is calculating how best to land and soften his fall.

His fall is _not_ soft.

Stiles tries to twist so he lands with his leg as a point to absorb the force, but that doesn’t work. Instead, as he twists, he doesn’t have enough momentum to land on his feet _at all._ Time freezes in Derek’s brain as Stiles hits the ice, right on his dominant-side hip. Right after, he hits his head against the ice.

The cry of pain, and the way Stiles seizes as he skids across the rink, make Derek’s heart stop.

It all comes rushing towards him milliseconds later.

“Stiles!” he shouts, and speeds over to where the younger man is crumbled on the ice, gripping his hip. His face is contorted in pain. Derek feels cold as he skids to a stop and kneels down, and it’s not from the chilly air. Stiles gasps with pain as Derek reaches out for him.

“Ow, owowow,” he chokes out, and Derek knows this is not good. Stiles has fallen a lot before, and he just gets right back up and works through the pain. A head injury, and whatever else just happened, is no joke.

There’s a clamor from the benches as Boyd and Erica race onto the ice, with Laura forced to move a bit more slowly behind them.

“ _Stiles._ ” Derek’s hand hovers over Stiles’ hip, which looks completely dislocated. His outfit is torn from the friction of sliding across the ice, and Derek can see friction burns already forming there among the scratches. Stiles is pale.

“It’s ok, Derek, it’s ok,” Stiles croaks to him, hands trembling wildly, and Derek looks up as Boyd crouches down beside them. Stiles starts to try and get up, but Derek stops him.

“Don’t,” he says, and Stiles just nods and looks like he might be sick. He reaches for Derek’s hand, and Derek takes it. He clasps it in his, rubbing it to try and keep Stiles’ fingers warm.

“Concussion,” Boyd declares, right as Laura gets to them. She’s panting, and Derek feels a flare of worry.

“He landed on the dominant hip,” she says, clearly breathless, and Boyd nods. Erica lays a hand on Derek’s shoulder. “Stiles, you need to turn over.”

The muffled sob of pain as Stiles turns breaks Derek’s heart. He keeps holding his hand as Laura kneels down beside them as well, reaching out and carefully checking for spinal injuries. Derek holds his breath.

“No spine breaks or tears.” Laura says, and it would be a relief if Stiles wasn’t clearly still injured. “We need to get him off this ice. The hip looks dislocated, maybe a Labral tear. Don’t let him put any pressure on his lower body, ok? Derek, here, help Boyd lift him up.”

It is, it turns out, a Labral tear of the hip. And a concussion. Derek sits next to Stiles’ hospital bed as the doctor goes over the injuries with the rest of the team. Derek doesn’t look at her—he keeps his eyes on Stiles’ sleeping face the whole time. They’ve been here for almost five hours, and they’ve just now decided that Stiles can be lulled to sleep with some painkillers. Stiles’ dad arrived within thirty minutes of Derek calling, and he hasn’t stopped looking at Stiles either.

“We’ve put the dislocated hip back into place, but it’s going to be weak for a few weeks, if not much longer,” the doctor tells them gently, and Boyd lets out a slow breath. “The concussion is mild, and he should recover from that within a day or two. We want to keep him for overnight observation, though, just in case.”

“Will he be able to get back on the ice within a few days?” Laura asks, and Derek appreciates that she’s willing to confront the tough questions for him.

The doctor hesitates. “As a medical professional, I can’t guarantee something like that. As someone who works with Olympians a lot, I know what you want to hear. If he has a high pain tolerance, he _could_ still compete. But if he worsens his injury there with overuse, he could dislocate the hip again or deepen the labral tear. It’s risky.”

“But possible?” Erica says, and the doctor gives them all a gentle look.

“My son really loves your team,” she says, looking at Derek, “and I’ve seen you skate. There’s a lot you two do, and things that require Mr. Stilinski to use his dominant side. If you had the right choreographer, you could probably figure out ways to hide it, or reduce the impact the moves have on his injury. So yes, it’s possible. I just don’t recommend it.”  

“It could really mess with him, then,” John murmurs, and the doctor gives a small nod of her head.

“It _could,_ ” Laura stresses. “No guarantees. Stiles could still do well.”

“I don’t want to put my son’s ability to walk on the line for some competition,” John growls, and Derek reaches out and lays a steadying hand on his shoulder. John takes a deep breath, and shoots Derek a grateful look. “Sorry.”

“We’re all a little tense,” Erica says, and looks to the doctor. “How long until he wakes up?”

She looks at a chart. “A few hours, maybe. You’re welcome to come and go as you please.”

Laura gets up, and Derek hears the way her leg pops at the motion. He looks at her sharply, but she just shakes her head and gives him a reassuring smile. As she heads to the door, pulling her phone out of her pocket, Derek knows that she’s calling Deaton.

“We need to control the press on this,” Boyd mutters to Erica, and she nods. They get up and leave, after glancing at Derek to make sure he’s ok with just him and John. Derek nods to them, and falls into a somber silence.

He and John wait for Stiles to wake up.

When he does, it’s slowly, and he’s clearly a little out of it. His eyelids flutter open and both John and Derek lean forward, causing him to flinch back as his vision is invaded by two intimidating men.

“Jesus!” he says, and starts to try and scramble backwards. Derek’s hand grabbing his makes Stiles still, and he seems to pause and process that he has no idea where he is. “Um. What’s going on? Did I trip down the stairs?”

“Oh my god,” John mutters, and Derek squeezes Stiles’ hand.

“No. Stiles—you hit the ice pretty hard. You’re at the hospital.”

“Well, I gathered that from the boring walls and beeping machines, but thanks,” Stiles says, looking around and saying the words with no hostility whatsoever. “What happened?”

Derek fidgets. “We were practicing the axel, and I didn’t assist right.”

Stiles wrinkles his face, like this concept is inconceivable for him. “That’s weird. I don’t remember any of that. Like, I think I remember positioning for it? But it’s all kind of blurry.”

“Concussion,” John grunts, and Stiles seems to just now realize his dad is there.

“Oh _no,_ Dad. I’m so sorry!” he says, eyes going big, and John shakes his head. “No, dad, c’mon. You don’t need to be in this place.”

It hits Derek that this was the same hospital Claudia Stilinski died at.

“It’s fine, son,” John says softly, and it’s ridiculous that Stiles is upset about _this_ and not the fault that he’s injured. “Derek called me and told me what happened. He offered to look after you, but I wanted to come. You’ve got a good other half, that’s for sure.”

Derek flushes, and Stiles relaxes a bit more into the pillows. He hasn’t let go of Derek’s hand. “Yeah,” he says, and looks back at Derek. “My hip feels weird. Is that what I landed on?”

Derek nods. “You have a labral tear.”

Stiles lets out a low whistle. “Well, that’s fun. When can I start skating again? We need to practice that move, really get it down.”

There are a lot of things Derek finds wrong with that sentence. He starts with the simplest one.

“The nurse says you need a few days off the ice at the minimum. But the injury could take a long time to heal, and it’s not smart to be putting too much stress on it—”

“Ok, yeah, but they tell _all_ injured athletes that,” Stiles interrupts, “so what are my _actual_ chances? Like, is it possible?”

“It’s possible,” Derek says slowly, “but you could get really hurt. It’s risky.”

“I don’t feel good about you doing it, son,” John murmurs, and Stiles looks at both of them like _they’re_ the crazy ones.

“So—what, you’re saying we just _shouldn’t compete?_ ” He’s getting a fire in his eyes. “Are you crazy? Dad, it’s the _Olympics._ I’m not just going to give up! How is that fair to me? Or to Derek? We’ve worked our butts off for this, we can’t just let one injury get in the way of going! Derek and I are the favorites going in. Or—were the favorites, now that I’m injured. But we could still do well! I have a high pain tolerance, you know that. And I know Derek will help me if my hip gets weak—”

“I let you fall, though,” Derek spits out, because the guilt is eating him alive and he can’t take it anymore. Stiles pauses in his rant, and both Stilinskis turn to look at him. He swallows. “If I had assisted more cleanly…”

“Dad,” Stiles says, but he’s still looking at Derek, “I’m not going to skip out on the Olympics with Derek. We’re going, and it’s non-negotiable. Also, can you please step outside so I can have a moment with Derek?”

John stares at his son, clearly thinking about arguing. Something about his history with Stiles seems to make him rethink that choice, though, and he stands up. He claps a hand on Derek’s shoulder as he leaves, giving him a significant look. Derek doesn’t know what it means.

When his dad leaves, Stiles flips his palm over and intertwines their fingers together. “Derek,” he murmurs, and Derek can’t look at him. “Hey. I could have been off on my balance, too. You shouldn’t blame yourself. I don’t even remember what caused the fall, ok?”

“I _do_ remember, though,” Derek whispers, and lets out a slow breath. “I didn’t set you up right, and you couldn’t do the triple.”

“It happens,” Stiles says, like it’s no big deal, and Derek wants to scream.

“Stiles, I don’t know if you’re understanding exactly what’s going on—”

“I know _exactly_ what is going on!” Stiles hisses, and his tone is so abruptly mad that it forces Derek to look up. Stiles’ eyes are blazing, and he looks both pissed and determined. “I can _feel_ what’s going on from my fucking hip, Derek. It hurts, and yeah, it sucks. But y’know what? I’m not letting one stupid injury keep us from skating together at the Olympics. And I’m not letting you turn into a self-hating mess just because you feel responsible for my injury. Which, by the way, you’re not.”

“Stiles,” Derek whispers, heart pounding, but Stiles shakes his head.

“I’m not going to argue about this. We can’t. We can’t let this stop us. _Please,_ Derek.”

Derek tries to steady himself. “What if you hurt yourself more?”

“Then I hurt myself more. So what, Derek? You want to start avoiding risks _now,_ after all the stupid shit we’ve done? Come _on._ We’re the most reckless, awesome, _connected_ team going to 2022. If anything, this is totally on brand for us.”

Stiles is holding his hand tight, and Derek tries to ease some of the tension clutching his heart. He gets it. If Derek were injured, he would want to go still. But _Stiles_ is the one injured, and Derek is in love with Stiles, and seeing him get hurt was one of the scariest moments of his life.

“Stiles—I—I want to go, but not if it means hurting you.”

Stiles eyes get soft, the warm brown touched with honey. He scooches so he’s closer to the edge of the bed, despite Derek glowering at him not to. The little wince he gives sends Derek’s heart pounding with concern all over again. But Stiles meets his gaze, steady. There's conviction in his voice when he murmurs, “Derek. I would rather be hurt with you, keeping our families’ dreams alive, than anything else in the world. And I know that if you're with me, I'm going to be ok.”

Stiles says it with such genuine meaning that it aches.

Derek loves him. He loves him  _so much._

“Ok,” Derek whispers, and squeezes his hand. “Me—me too.”

There’s a bit of silence, where they both take some time to process. When the silence is broken, it’s by Stiles.  

“Think about how much the subreddit will love this drama,” Stiles says, giving him a playful smile, and Derek is torn between wanting to roll his eyes and kiss him. “Like, it’s a real shame we don’t have any press with us right now. They could snap some _super_ romantic photos of us, really get the Sterek shippers in a tizzy. Do you think any of the judges ship us? Could give us an advantage—”

Derek flicks him on the arm to shut him up.

\---------

There’s nothing Derek can possibly say about the Olympics that hasn’t been said before. The pressure is intense—so is the support. It’s dazzling to stand outside the Olympic stadium and realize that he and Stiles will be skating there in mere days. There’s a type of buzzing that gets under the skin of each athlete, that motivates and terrifies. They’re staying with other skaters for Team USA, in bunk-style dorm rooms, and the energy is infectious. There isn’t much time to socialize between all the last-minute training to try and reach perfection, but those who they do interact with are nice overall. Athletes aren’t wrong when they say it’s like a whirlwind summer camp, but with significantly more condoms.

(Derek isn’t interested in that part. To his surprise, neither is Stiles. Stiles sticks to him like glue the whole time, doesn’t give anyone else a glance. In fact, when one of the Olympic Skiers starts hitting on him, Stiles actively avoids them for the rest of the day. He also glares at anyone who tries to hit on Derek, which Derek is trying not to read into too much. It feels good, regardless, for them to be there for each other.)

Honestly, they’re too caught up in training and pushing through this to revel in the extravagance that most people associate with the Olympics. They’re going to be doing two different routines as a pair, because pair skating is a combination of two different events: the short routine, and then the free skate. The short is on Monday, and the free skate (the one they really care about, the one that they’re playing the Disney in) is on Tuesday.

The Stilinski-Hale team as a whole decided they needed to simplify their short routine, because Stiles’ hip is still weak and is causing him near constant pain. They’re still doing Olympic-level combinations and transitions, but there’s a few less lifts and throws. Derek is glad about this. He prefers to play it safe for the less important event, so they can both be standing when it comes time to do what they’re _really_ here for: pay honor to Stiles’ mom and Derek’s sister.

They have another plan for that, too. They haven’t told anyone else yet. He and Stiles came up with it one night as they were going through old photos of each other’s families together, curled up on the couch in Derek’s apartment. They’d done the whole thing in secret, and Derek can’t wait to reveal it at the free skate.

“The ISU will be so mad,” Stiles had chirped happily, fingers coated with glue and shimmering pink glitter, and Derek had agreed.

So the first skate is basically in the bag. They aren’t going to get a perfect score by playing it safe, but they also won’t risk falling and losing their shot at Gold. They’re going to incorporate some of their signature moves, but not try anything new. That’s all being saved for the free skate. Boyd wanted to simplify that _Tangled_ routine, too, but Stiles had thrown a complete fit and that idea was dropped. Derek doesn’t blame Boyd, given the fact that their routine might be the literal definition of insanity. Stiles could significantly worsen his injury if he lands wrong, and they’re both very aware of that. The issue is that Stiles doesn’t seem to care if he does long-term damage, and refuses to compromise on changing anything in a noticeable way.

He’s been frustratingly stubborn about keeping everything the same, actually. It took Derek days to convince Stiles that he should stop landing on his dominant foot and let Derek catch and lift him in ways that don’t put stress on his hips. Derek isn’t sure if logic or pain was the major deciding factor that won Stiles over in the end, but he doesn’t care. Deaton taught them some ways of adjusting so Derek can try and keep too much stress off of Stiles’ dominant hip side. Stiles also has enough skill to use his non-dominant foot, which is frankly impressive. He also continues to land on the dominant side and grit through the pain for certain parts of the routine, though, because he’s impossible.

He’s pushing through it, and waves off any concern directed his way, but Derek can tell it hurts. Even if he wasn’t adjusting himself in order to make sure their moves still landed, he could read in Stiles’ body. He’s said it before, and he still does: Stiles’ body is as familiar to him as Derek’s own.

That’s why, as they skate around the practice rink tonight, Derek can tell that Stiles is frustrated. He sees it in his shoulders, the way he pivots. It’s the night before their short skate, and they have the practice rink all to themselves. Laura and Erica have stepped out for a few moments to get food, and Boyd is busy dealing with the press clamoring to see them. (He and Stiles have done exactly one interview, and that was with the Trevor Project to help raise awareness about LGBTQ suicide. Neither of them have any interest in doing mainstream interviews, because it just takes time away from practicing or moments where they could relax together. Stiles has enough of a positive, active social media presence that they don’t _need_ the interviews.) 

It’s just the two of them because of this, and Stiles is trying to get Derek to do his quadruple more boldly. Derek keeps going to throw Stiles in the air, but spends too much time making sure Stiles lands without hurting himself to correctly time the jump that _he’s_ supposed to do. It’s one of the few breakdowns they’ve had in their coordination, and it's entirely based on Derek's fear of him falling again. Derek has been working through it, but he needs reminders sometimes.

Stiles, up until this point, has been excessively patient with this predicament. He’s repeatedly told Derek he doesn’t blame him. He’s also demanded they keep practicing the move until Derek stops hesitating on it. That part is progressing, but slowly.

Time is running out for him to get over that mental roadblock, though. 

“Come on,” Stiles urges, swooping around him in a circle, “ _Derek._ I’ve seen you do this quad jump, like, at least 200 times. What’s the hold-up?”

The hold-up is that Derek still gets flashbacks to Stiles falling onto the ice every time he assists him in a triple axel. Sometimes, he hears the sound of his head hitting the ice, or the way his body skid across the frosty surface. When it’s a particularly bad day, he hears that cry of pain, and knows it was his fault.

“I’m nervous about tossing you wrong,” Derek says, because that’s a simpler answer.

Stiles doesn’t buy it. He looks around them, at the empty benches and still rink. “Who is here that you’re trying to bullshit, Derek? Thought it was just you and I. Thought we were upfront with each other—and I’ll tell you what I see. You keep hesitating on the assist, and then you miss your cue, and you try to compensate for the speed and don’t get the full four rotations you need. And we both know it’s because of the injury, because we’ve talked about it.”

Derek wishes he had a tail, because then he could tuck it between his legs. The worst part is that Stiles doesn’t even sound mad. He and Derek _have_ talked about it, but Derek isn’t the best at being gentle with himself.

“Stiles,” he whispers, “I know I’m frustrating. I’m sorry.” He looks down.

The sound of Stiles gliding towards him isn’t needed—Derek knows he’s coming like he knows the beat of his heart.

He looks up when Stiles slots himself against Derek, carefully touching their skates.

“Hey,” Stiles says softly, and Derek closes his eyes as he feels Stiles’ fingers come up to touch his neck. “I’m not frustrated at _you_. You know that. Here, let’s do a thing.”

Stiles slides his hands down to grab Derek’s. He gives no resistance. Derek lets Stiles direct them through the ice, keeping pace. Stiles does a little twirl, improvisational and whimsical, and it makes him hit Derek’s chest. Derek adjusts them immediately, smoothly transitioning into a spin.

“Nice adjust,” Stiles murmurs, and Derek sighs. Stiles feels so right in his arms. They start to slow. “See? You’ve got me. If you just let yourself go on muscle memory, instead of overthinking it every time I go for a triple, then we’ll be fine. We were doing that last 15 seconds really well until the injury.”

“Yeah,” Derek murmurs, and puts his face against Stiles’ neck. He doesn’t know why something so simple made him feel better.

Stiles makes a small humming noise. “Y’know, at first I thought you were worried about me messing up the routine.”

“Never,” Derek whispers, and Stiles chuckles.

“Good. Because I’m pretty badass.”

“You are,” Derek agrees, taking the joke and making it serious, and Stiles relaxes a bit more against him.

There’s a few beats of silence.

“You know how every competition, I tell you not to drop me?” Stiles asks out of the blue, and Derek nods. Of course he remembers. “Want to know why I find that joke so funny?”

“Why?”

Stiles slips from his arms, turns to face him.

“Because there has never been a single doubt in my mind that you would _never_ drop me,” Stiles tells him, and makes an annoyed noise when Derek looks down. “No, Derek. Look at me.”

Derek looks at him.

Stiles’ mouth is set in a determined line, and his warm brown eyes are full of fire. “It’s funny because that is the last thing I’ve ever worried about. I have never, not in my entire goddamn career, trusted someone as much as I trust you. The thought of you dropping me is not something that I can even have in my brain, because it’s so _stupid._ When I tell you not to drop me, it’s me saying I trust you. Because if I didn’t trust you, that joke wouldn’t be funny _at all._ ”

He feels the massive weight of his guilt on his shoulders. “I know. I just—I felt like… like I could have done something more. Seeing you injured it was—one of the worst moments of my life.” His voice breaks on the last word, and he feels very, very vulnerable.

Stiles gives him such a tender look that it hurts. He slides his hands up to Derek’s face, cups it slightly. Derek feels his heartbeat pound in his chest, body stuttering as it savors the touch.

“Derek,” he murmurs. “You’re not going to have to feel that way again, ok? _You’re not going to hurt me._ If I mess up, it won’t be your fault.”

Something intense must be showing on Derek’s face, because Stiles takes his thumb and rubs it between Derek’s eyebrows to relax the muscles there. Derek forces himself to ease up a little, to soak in what Stiles is saying.

“Yeah,” he agrees, and Stiles gets the bright smile on his face again.

“There we go. See, isn’t it nicer to not be moody and masochistic?”

Derek chuckles, and it breaks the tension.

“Maybe,” he admits, and Stiles grins.

“So when I tell you not to drop me tomorrow, you better not freak out. It’s our good luck charm,” Stiles says, and Derek snorts.

“Yeah? Does the reddit say that?”

Stiles does a restless swizzle, clearly wanting to be chased. “The _subreddit_ doesn’t know what we say to each other, Der-bear. That’s just you and me.”

His voice is teasing, but Derek thinks he sees something more serious in his eyes.

Derek swallows. “I like the sound of that.”

It’s the closest he’s ever gotten to admitting his feelings. He tries not to make it sound too intense, tries to keep it as a casual comment. But it’s so hard. Stiles is a living, breathing bundle of everything that Derek loves. He’s been in love with Stiles for _months,_ and Stiles doesn’t treat anyone else the way he treats Derek. They take risks for each other. They lift each other up. Other pairs, other _platonic_ pairs, don’t touch the way they do. Derek fantasizes about Stiles’ skin under his fingers and Stiles’ hands in his hair, wonders if the way Stiles sometimes looks at him is a projection of his feelings or an actual spark, something just waiting for a jumpstart.

He loves him, and it’s so hard to pretend not to.

Stiles stops his swizzle, tilting his head. “You mean that?” he asks, and he sounds breathless, for some reason.

Derek’s throat closes up as he nods.

Stiles gives him a little smile. There’s a look in his eyes, something penetrating and captivating. “Good. Me too.”

Derek can’t breathe.

They stare at each other for a few seconds, and Derek wonders if that meant what he thought it did.

“Now—tag! You’re it!”

A shape zips by him, and he jumps as something stings his shoulder. Stiles has bolted into the game, and Derek is left with some stray ice particles and a massive amount of confusion as Stiles darts away.

Derek chases after him.

* * *

Derek is shaking. Badly.

“Ok,” Laura is saying, and Derek forces himself to breathe and actually hear her, “just remember your timing. I know you two can do this. And no matter what, you know that we’re _all_ proud of you, right?”

“Right,” Derek echoes, numb, and Laura squeezes his shoulder. Stiles is gripping Derek’s hand as he stares out the glass of the booth, watching as Olympic officials clean off the ice for them. The lights reflect off the glassy surface, nearly blinding in intensity.

“Ok,” Boyd says, and Stiles lets out a shaky breath next to Derek. “They’re going to call you on soon. We’ll give you a moment to yourselves.”

Derek loves this about Boyd. He’s composed, and collected, and clearly knows both him and Stiles well enough to figure out exactly what they need. Which is each other. Laura hugs them both tight before she leaves, and gives Derek’s cheek a pinch.

“Say hi to everyone for us,” Stiles says, and Derek looks back to where the others are sitting in the stands. Scott and Allison are both wearing _#Sterek_ shirts, and John looks like he’s been on-and-off sobbing all day. Erica delegated herself to being his emotional support manager for the day, but she sees them looking and waves with a smile. Lydia is there too, sitting next to Deaton and chewing some bright pink gum. She has a look of practiced disinterest, but Derek knows that she’s invested in how he and Stiles do.

“I will,” Laura reassures them, and leaves.  

“Oh man,” Stiles whispers as soon as she leaves, and turns to look fully at Derek. “Ohhhh man. Hahaha. How you doing, big guy?”

“I’m nervous,” he admits immediately, and Stiles laughs.

“Oh god, me too. I’m so nervous. Like, I’m seriously hoping I don’t throw up. Do you think they would pause our time limit for that?”

Derek laughs, and Stiles grins like he just won something. “You didn’t throw up yesterday during the short routine. If you do throw up, make sure you aim it at the judges who don’t like you.”

Stiles beams, fidgeting a bit with the zipper of his jacket. “I expect you to throw me in the right direction, then. I’ll point out the mean ones when we get onto the ice.”

As if on cue, some attendant motions to them. Derek’s stomach does a few loops, and he starts to stand. To his surprise, Stiles stops him.

“Derek, wait,” he says, eyes and voice turning a tinge too desperate, and Derek immediately sits back down.

“What? Your hip?” he asks, and Stiles shakes his head.

“No I— no. I just… Before we get on that ice, when all the cameras and people will be paying attention to us and— and—” He gets flustered, cuts himself off. The attendant is looking cross now, waving more firmly as if she thinks they haven’t seen her. Derek resists the urge to glare.

“Take your time, Stiles. I’m listening.”

Stiles takes a deep breath. He looks at Derek like this is some last chance. “I always thought this song belonged to me and my mom, you know? But—but it doesn’t, not anymore. And I—I just wanted to make sure you knew, before we went out there. That this song it’s—it belongs to _us._ You and me.”

Derek really wishes Stiles wouldn’t take his breath away right before he has to use it.

He struggles with what he can possibly say to that. He thinks about the song, and the emotion in it, and how the entire world will be watching them as they skate to it. He thinks about what Stiles is telling him, knows that this was something important for both of them: for Derek to hear, and for Stiles to say.

He squeezes the hand that Stiles is holding, looks him steady in the eyes. They’re very close, and the attendant is having a fit behind them. When he speaks, it’s with conviction. “Then let’s show them what that looks like.”

Stiles gets a look of relief and determination on his face, and Derek pulls him up.

“Fuck yeah,” he says, and takes a deep breath. “Whew, ok, game face time. No nerves on this face, nope. Not about to totally skate on Olympic ice, never. Gotta think about something gross. Lydia’s toe blisters! Yep, that really gross one…”

Derek lets him babble. It’s calming, because it’s _Stiles,_ and they walk shoulder-to-shoulder to the attendant. She rushes them to the edge of the rink, and a roar of approval greets them. The screaming and cheering from the crowd is deafening, and Derek can make out at least fifteen TV cameras pointed in their direction at this moment. He doesn’t care at all. Stiles’ hand is still tight in his, and that’s all that matters.

“Alright,” says one of the TV crew members, and Derek stands tall. “Three, two one. On the ice…”

\---------

 _A video is playing on an old TV screen at the local bar. It’s packed, and people look like they’re glued to whatever is happening on the screen. The Olympic music plays, followed quickly by the logo, and the words_ BEIJING: 2022 _flash across the screen. The whole bar seems to be watching as two skaters make their way onto the ice. The voice of a male commentator comes on over the speakers._

 **Parrish** : Welcome back from the commercial break, everyone. On the ice, we have a pair that many are calling the Gold medal favorites for this year’s Olympics: Stiles Stilinski and Derek Hale, USA. Marin, catch up some of our viewers on why this team is such a big deal.

_The crowd is screaming as the two skaters glide out into the rink. One has his arms raised high, waving and grinning as he’s greeted with unfiltered joy. The other moves seamlessly beside him, a hand on his partner’s back._

**Morrell:** Where to start, Jordan! Hale and Stilinski are exceptional. They’re not just one of the few male-male pairs at this year’s games, but they’re the _only_ ones who have consistently blurred the line between figure skating and ice dancing during every one of the qualifiers. Their music, expression, and technique won them Gold at the US Nationals with a perfect score!

_The team is testing out the ice, slowly moving along it as they hold hands. The camera zooms in on Derek’s face as he gently guides Stiles around so they’re skating face-to-face. His eyes flick down to Stiles’ hip, and he gives a tiny frown. The light reflects on the bottoms for both of their outfits: a deep forest green with silver highlights for Derek, and a dark silver one with green shimmers for Stiles. They’re wearing black jackets over their skating tops._

**Parrish:** Complete newcomers in the Olympics, this is their first time here. You wouldn’t know it, though, given their performance at the US Nationals. They’ve also developed quite a following on social media, and have won praise for showing tender and intimate male-male expressionism. They’re pioneers in figure skating.

 **Morrell:** Complete game-changers, absolutely.

 _Stiles reaches out and pokes Derek on the nose, mouthing_ boop _as he does. He grins, and leans in to whisper something in Derek’s ear. As always, he covers his mouth so the cameras can’t see. Derek slows both of them, his expression flickering to emotions that the viewers can’t quite catch, and Stiles reaches up to wrap his arms around Derek’s neck. They hover there together, skates touching._

 **Parrish:** Always leaving fans wondering what exactly is going on between these two.  

 **Morrell:** Whatever it is, it’s caused quite a stir! Their fan support is _incredible,_ truly mind-blowing. The question is whether they can keep up that support with Stilinski’s recent hip injury that he suffered during training a few weeks ago. We don’t know the details, but a new move they were practicing seemed to go haywire.

 _Stiles and Derek are in the middle of the rink now, and Stiles is smiling and waving at the crowds. Some signs can be made out among the sea of bodies, and the cameras zoom in on one that says #SterekForever. The screen switches back to the skaters. Stiles is pointing in the direction of the sign, nudging Derek in the side as he does. Derek looks, and snorts._  

 **Parrish:** They’re promising to show us that move tonight, though. Their routine is packed with combinations that are more technically difficult than most skaters would dare to perform. In their short skate event yesterday, they played it very safe. It’s clear that they were taking it easy on that first routine, so they could really try to blow us away with this one.

 **Morrell:** Absolutely, Jordan. As our viewers might know as well, actual medal placements for pairs in the Olympics are based off of two routines: the short routine, and then the free skate. Hale and Stilinski did their short routine yesterday. Their coaches confirmed that the pair decided to change their short skate routine by reducing the number of moves that placed pressure on Stilinski’s dominant side, where he got that labral hip tear. That being said, they still scored quite well, landing third in the rankings. But it wasn’t as intense and unconventional as we normally expect from this duo, and you could tell the judges were disappointed.

_On the screen, Stiles waves to another person in the stands. An attendant comes forward, and seems to ask about the jackets. Stiles looks at Derek, who nods and starts taking his off. There’s a flurry of movement as the jackets are transferred over, and Stiles stretches once he’s out of his. As he twists, something on his silver shirt top gleams in the light. It looks like there’s something engraved into the fabric. The camera zooms in, trying to catch it. Stiles turns to Derek before it can catch the writing._

**Parrish:** I’m sure they’re eager to see what they throw out today! Many argue that today’s skate is more important for teams, as they get more time to really show what they can do. This free skate will determine if they get a medal, since the judges will be adding the scores from their free skate and short routine together. They could still make a comeback here, particularly with the fall we saw from Canada’s Tate-Romero duo.

 **Morrell:** No doubt that they still have a chance at that Gold, Jordan. Hmm, what’s going on down there?

_To everyone’s surprise, Derek and Stiles aren’t getting into position right away. Instead, they take a moment in the center and stand, arms stretched out to their sides like a giant wingspan. Stiles looks serious, and many viewers have never seen him without a smile._

**Morrell:** Unusually somber expressions we’re seeing right now. These outfits are different than the ones in the short skate, can we zoom in on those again please?

_The camera zooms back in on their outfits, trying to appease the commentator._

**Parrish:** Clearly not part of the routine, but not a traditional warm-up, either. Looks like they’re drawing attention to engravings on their backs. Can you make it out, Marin?

 _Against the fabric of their shirts are two letters, written in pink glitter. On Stiles, a_ C.S. _On Derek’s, a_ L.H. _They stand there, looking out at the crowd, and there’s an intensity about it. They look strangely emotional. They turn once, so the other side of the stadium can see the letters on their backs, their hands grasped between them._

 **Morrell:** “C.S.” and “L.H.”? Looks like initials of some sort, but I’m not familiar with the meaning.

_The cameras flick over to the pair’s team managers and coach. A woman with brown hair pulled into a ponytail is covering her mouth with her hand and sobbing, body wracked with the force of her crying. A blonde woman leans forward, her own face stunned, and gives her a tissue. Next to the brunette, an older man with greying tan hair wraps his arm around her. His wrinkled face is dripping with tears, and he looks endlessly proud._

**Parrish:** We may never know, Marin, but it seems like means something to their coach and Stilinski’s father.

I love you _, mouths the brunette to the rink, her eyes on the pair, and the older man squeezes her tightly. Both of them try to compose themselves as they notice the cameras on them._

_On the rink, Stiles and Derek lower their arms. They keep holding hands, and Derek pulls Stiles a little closer to him._

**Morrell:** Yet another surprise from this _surprising_ duo.

 **Parrish:** Indeed! They also shocked the committee by insisting on doing a song from _Tangled,_ the Disney movie. For those who aren’t familiar, this is almost a folk-inspired semi-pop ballad. A tad more mellow than this duo normally picks, but with clear music swells for key combinations and moves.

_Derek is adjusting Stiles’ position in his arms, seeming almost absent-minded as he smoothest out the wrinkles in some of the fabric. Stiles laughs, and then winces. Derek settles around him, and presses his face against the back of Stiles’ head. Hale’s throat moves, signifying he’s talking—but no camera can get the angle to figure out what’s being said. The shorter man closes his eyes, and they wait._

**Morrell:** The song really focuses on a developing romantic relationship between two key characters, which Stilinski and Hale are acting as. No official explanation for this particular song, and there are _plenty_ of theories, but it is full of emotion that hopefully these two skaters can match.

 **Parrish:** Oh, and it’s starting! Here they go, getting into position.

_The crowd goes completely silent as Derek and Stiles hold themselves still._

**Morrell:** And… here we go.

_The music starts._

_Derek and Stiles move slowly at first, flowing together like water. Guitar and harp start gently, easing the viewers into the motions. Stiles raises his arms as Derek slides his hands up to his wrists, turning him with the faintest touches as instruments build. They move their arms together, and it looks like it was meant to be as Stiles rotates around his right leg._

All those days watching from the windows…

_As the singer starts, Stiles and Derek begin to move across the nice._

All those years outside looking in…

_Stiles is taking the lead, and he’s mouthing the words as he stares into Derek’s eyes. He’s moving backwards as Derek follows frontwards, like they’re connected by a string. Stiles keeps talking as they transition into a glide._

All that time never even knowing, just how blind I've been…

_They go into a perfect curve across the ice, Derek’s leg aligned with Stiles’ as he holds his waist. As Derek lifts his leg, Stiles does the same, showing no pain. Their bodies are close, and the connection clear as they go into a few elegant arcs._

**Morrell** : Beautiful grace here, so far. They’re really taking advantage of the slowness of this song to highlight their ability to hold poses in flawless harmony. This intimacy is exactly what we expect from them.  

Now I’m here, suddenly I see, _goes the music, and Stiles and Derek speed up as the music swells, close and intimate as they get ready. Viewers who haven’t watched them before would worry that they’re going to hit skates, but the commentators don’t say anything. Derek’s hands go to Stiles, and it’s clear he’s getting ready to toss him in the air._

 **Parrish:** They like staring out with triple twists, so we can be expecting that soon—

Standing here, it’s all so clear, I’m where I’m meant to be, _sings the gorgeous voice over the speakers, and Derek tosses Stiles like it’s the easiest thing in the world._

 **Morrell:** There we are!

_The crowd screams in approval as Stiles shoots up, with Derek there to catch him moments later._

**Parrish:** Perfectly executed, look at Hale’s placement of his hands as he catches Stilinski. Moving into side-by-side triple sals…

_Derek and Stiles move together, each on one foot, and jump. They spin, near blurs in the air, and land right next to each other in perfect synch._

**Morrell:** And they’re clean! No overt favoring of his side from Stilinski—that injury must be burning right about now, but no error on that jump!

 **Parrish:** They know it, too! Here comes their toss-and-hold—a triple axel!

 _Stiles spins through the air, and Derek is at his side like it’s effortless, instinctual. His hand is waiting for Stiles’ waist the instant he lands._ All at once, everything looks different, _murmurs the music, and Derek and Stiles slip into a spin. Every move is flowing into the other, and it’s breathtaking. The spin slows as the woman murmurs,_ now that I see you, _and they move from the spin to gliding across the ice once more_.

 **Morrell:** Steady edge there from Stilinski, using his non-dominant foot. Note Hale’s hand placement, not on the hip like their past routines. They’ve really done all they can to compensate for this injury. If you didn’t know Stilinski had been hurt, you might not even notice. 

_Derek and Stiles are nearly touching as they skate backwards, and Derek twirls Stiles around and gets ready to throw him._

**Parrish:** Second throw coming up here, a triple salchow, let’s see how that hip holds up—

_Making it look like nothing, Derek gives Stiles the momentum he needs._

**Morrell:** A _perfect_ triple sal! Look at the grimace on Stilinski’s face when he landed on his dominant side. That must have hurt! Judges might take off points for that break in character. Kept his form flawless, though— how does he do it?

_The music switches to the perspective of the male character, and Derek takes the lead. The crowd screams in approval as he cups Stiles’ face, skating backwards so he can mouth the words while they move._

All those days, chasing down a daydream…

_Stiles flows around Derek, like he’s the daydream being chased._

All that time, never truly seeing things the way they were…

_They skate as if they were put on this earth to do so, and the crowd gasps as Derek transitions them into a spin, using one of Stiles’ hands to swing him around while simultaneously lowering to a crouch._

**Morrell:** Look as they go into that back outside death spiral! A very challenging move.

 **Parrish:** Looks like their more difficult maneuvers are planned in the next minute, really capitalizing on the time they have before Stilinski’s muscles give out. The acting here is phenomenal, you can really feel the song in their emotions and moves.

_Derek and Stiles practically dance around the rink, and the crowd is clearly holding its breath. Both hosts are quiet as they execute a triple toe-double toe combination, performing the two jumps in sequence and landing with their hands in the right position to intertwine. Derek slips his arms around Stiles as they move backwards, a look of focus on his face. The music swells again as the words float through the crowd:_

If she’s here, it’s crystal clear, I'm where I’m meant to go—

_Stiles kicks his leg behind him, hoists himself into a backflip in a pivot around Derek’s arm, and lands with his legs on either side of Derek’s neck._

_The crowd explodes._

**Morrell:** Oh my god!

_Derek immediately goes into a spin, and Stiles twists around to hold his body horizontal on Derek's shoulders for a half-second split. Derek’s hands move perfectly to support him, both of them twirling as Stiles lithely transitions their chests to touch, his legs still in the air._

_The singers are in a duet now_ (And at last I see the light, and it’s like the sky is new) _, their strong voices harmonizing in the way that the skating pair seem to do so naturally. Derek’s hand is strong on Stiles’ back as they continue to spin, and his right foot falls perfectly onto the ice as Derek eases him into a smooth dip._

And it's warm and real and bright

_Derek leans down, his and Stiles’ lips almost touching. The emotion there is captivating._

**Parrish:** That was amazing! What just happened there?

 **Morrell:** Magic, Jordan. Magic.

_Stiles is beaming. They don’t stay still though—instead, they move out of the dip together and practically prance across the ice._

And the world has somehow shifted

 **Morrell:** That looked like a move with some ice dancing inspiration, which is what we’ve come to expect from the Stilinski-Hale pair. They’ve hardly stopped the physical connection this whole routine, another trademark of their style.

_The music swells, and Derek lifts up Stiles by the armpits, twists him until he’s horizontal in his arms. They spin again, so fast that it must be painful, and as they slow down, Derek transitions Stiles back onto the ice. They don’t show any discomfort._

**Morrell:** You can see there, Jordan, the care he’s showing with Stilinski’s injury. He makes it look natural, but that has been modified to let Stilinski come down on his non-dominant side. Oh! Beautiful footwork on this more mellow section again, they're looping the song to extend it, very nice editing.

_Derek and Stiles move as one. Derek needs nothing more than fingertips to change their direction, only the slightest touch to keep that spark. They look like they’re waltzing across the ice. Stiles moves his hips to send him back faster, and Derek chases after on one blade._

**Parrish:** I don’t know how Stilinski is managing to do this, given that hip injury. About fifteen seconds left now, and we’re supposed to be seeing another brand-new move from them.  

_Stiles and Derek are speeding up again, and it’s clear this is their final push. They move as one, like they’re one person inhabiting two separate bodies._

And at last I see the light

And it's like the fog has lifted

And at last I see the light...

_Derek gets ready to assist Stiles, and this one feels different somehow. Derek’s face gives nothing away, but there’s an overt trust in the way Stiles places himself, like he’s encouraging Derek on. Like he’s saying he knows he can do it._

And it's like the sky is new…

_The focus from the pair is palpable, as is the clear trust that they have. No one in the audience knows what is about to happen, but they can feel the energy in their bones. The viewers at home stare, captivated._

**Parrish:** Here goes the triple axel throw for Stilinski—

_Stiles is tossed through the air, and everyone expects Derek to rush to his side. But he doesn’t. Instead, he starts to move backwards, legs tensing just the slightest bit—_

**Morrell:** Hale just sped up—but this isn’t their signature toss-and-hold—

_Stiles’ form is perfect as he lands back onto the ice, immediately going into a curve._

**Parrish:** Stilinski _lands it, he lands it—_

 **Morrell:** Look at Hale—

_Derek jumps right as Stiles’ foot hits the ice, and it’s like time slows down. There’s shocked screams from the crowd, and the commentators both gasp as they realize what he’s about to try—_

_Derek goes into the air, and his body twists. One rotation. Two rotations, three rotations_

And it's warm and real and bright—

_Four rotations._

_The crowd goes into hysterics as Derek lands with grace—_

**Morrell:** Oh my god! Flawless form! He did it folks! That’s a quadruple Lutz, this makes Hale the second male skater to ever land that move on Olympic ice—

_–but it’s not over. It’s so far from over. On the TV, Stiles is moving backwards with his leg raised above his head, nearly vertical with the ice. He’s looking at Derek, though, because Derek hasn’t stopped yet._

_Not even a second has passed after Derek landing his quadruple Lutz before throws himself into the air again—one, two, three,_

_four!_

A noise on from the TV, like one of commentators just dropped something, hits the ears of viewers.

 **Parrish:** Oh my god! Oh my god! Followed by a meticulous _quadruple_ loop—

_Stiles is right there as he lands. The crowd collectively gasps as their hands connect. The momentum from the Lutz-loop combination draws Stiles’ body against Derek’s, chest-to-chest, and they enter into a spin with the music. Arms wrapped around each other, legs crossed, they become one body._

**Morrell:** This is the _first_ time a skater has done a quadruple-quadruple combo on Olympic ice! Jordan—

_The music softens. Derek and Stiles are still holding each other close, still spinning, but they’re losing speed. The audience goes quiet, and each and every lyric shines through in the silence._

And the world has somehow shifted…

_It’s like the stadium is holding its breath, like they know they’re being allowed to see something intimate and real. The music slows as the spin does, and Stiles reaches up and touches Derek’s face with his right hand._

_The camera zooms in on their faces, the way Stiles looks at Derek in his eyes and mouths the next words to him._

All at once everything looks different…

_Stiles runs his fingers over Derek’s cheek, and Derek is looking at Stiles like he’s the only thing that matters in the entire world. They stop completely. Stiles’ other hand is tucked into Derek’s chest, in the miniscule space between them, and Derek raises one of his hands and presses two fingers to Stiles’ lips._

_The camera catches Stiles actually saying the next words, eyes almost desperate in their passion._

“Now that I see you.”

_The note is carried for a few seconds, holding in the same way the skaters hold their pose._

_The music ends._

_…._

_The entire stadium explodes._

There’s a bit of stunned silence from the commentators, before they seem to collect themselves.  

 **Morrell:** That was—astounding! This program couldn’t be more difficult, more nuanced. Emotionally, technically. With an injured skater!

 **Parrish:** Standing ovation from the crowd! Let me tell you, Marin: I would not want to be the judge to be a nitpicker on any of this stuff, because I don’t know if there was anything wrong with this performance.

 **Morrell:** This is one for the history books! The first _ever_ quad-quad combo—

Both commentators pause, cut off by something on the rink.

_Derek and Stiles are clinging to each other, chests heaving. Stiles’ mouth is moving quick, like he’s blabbering something, and Derek looks wrecked. There are tears streaming down Stiles’ face, likely relief mixed with the pain that he’s now openly showing as he favors his left leg. As he talks, gripping Derek’s shirt and gasping in his space, Derek raises his shaking hands and places them on Sties’ cheeks._

_He cups Stiles’ face, leans down, and kisses him._

_There’s a moment of shocked silence; and then the crowd somehow screams even louder as Stiles presses himself against Derek, one arm looping around his neck while his other hand tangles in Derek’s sweaty hair, and kisses back._

**Morrell:** I _knew_ it, I knew it! I _told_ you, Jordan, I _told_ you Sterek was real—

 **Parrish:** Ah-hem, Marin—

 **Morrell:** Ah! Right, yes, sorry. Um, viewers, please stay tuned after that heartwarming display to see what the judges give the Stilinski-Hale pair, representing the United States in the 2022 Olympics in Beijing!

 _The screen cuts to a close-up as Stiles and Derek part. Stiles is grinning like an idiot, still crying. Derek looks like he’s in shock, but the immense adoration shines through in his eyes. He slips an arm under Stiles’ armpits, and guides them both to the booth where they’ll wait for their score._   

* * *

Derek’s heart is pounding in his ears as he and Stiles make their way off the ice. Stiles is leaning heavily on him, and Derek can still taste him on his lips. They’re both more than a little shell-shocked, both from the adrenaline of skating and the kiss, but the joy is shining through too.

“Oh my god!” Laura squeals, as soon as their skates hit the red padding, and she pulls both of them into a hug. Her makeup is smeared from how much she cried when she saw her initials on Derek’s back. “You did it! You did it!”

“Yeah,” Derek rasps, and Stiles grips him like a koala. The warmth of his skin presses through the frosty air, and Derek resists the urge to bury his face in Stiles’ hair and never let him go.

“Amazing job,” Boyd tells them, while Erica nods enthusiastically behind them, and Stiles lets out a laugh that has hints of hysteria in it.

“Can I have painkillers now?” he asks, and both their managers scramble to find some. Derek works on getting him over to the bench to sit down while they wait for their score. He knows it went well, but can hardly remember any of it. All he can think of is Stiles’ mouth against his, the way Stiles had _kissed him back._

Stiles is quivering from the pain as they settle down, but he keeps their hands intertwined. “Oh god,” he says, and puts his head between his knees. Derek sees his leg muscle spasm, and immediately reaches out to rub it. As he presses his thumb into the tight muscle, he tries to listen for any announcements about their score. “How badass were we?”

“Really badass,” Derek says, blown away as he watches the screen replay their last fifteen seconds on repeat, and Stiles lets out another semi-hysterical laugh. He’s still crying, hasn’t stopped since their routine ended.

“Oh god, I’m such a mess. This is the best day ever!”

“You did it,” Derek murmurs, and Stiles shakes his head.

“ _We_ did it,” he croaks, and lets out a little whimper. “Oh god, that hurts.”

“I told you not to land on your dominant in the triple sal,” he scolds, and Stiles laughs.

“Instinct, totally forgot. Great bedside manner, by the way. Ow, ow, _ow_ , damn it Derek!” Despite his complaining, he makes no move to get away from Derek’s hands as they dig into his leg. They both know Derek is helping. Laura is doing a very good job of sitting near them while pretending not to notice a single thing they’re doing, which he appreciates.

The press is less subtle. Derek feels all the cameras on them, and once again does not care.

“Boyd and Erica will be back soon. Hey, look at your dad,” he urges, just to distract Stiles, and the younger man glances up. He beams and gives an enthusiastic wave to his dad, Scott, Allison, and Lydia in the stands. They’re all still standing and cheering in their direction, and it makes Derek smile. Lydia looks enthusiastic, and vaguely impressed, which means they did _really well._ John’s eyes are even redder than before they did the routine, which is saying a lot. Derek looks for Deaton, but doesn’t see him anywhere. As Derek really works at the spasming leg, Stiles lowers his head between his knees again. He takes a deep breath.

“So did I imagine that kiss, or did that really happen?”

Derek pales significantly, but keeps massaging. He glances at Laura, who is now resolutely looking at the scoring screen. “No—I, that—that happened.”

“Oh thank god,” Stiles says, like that’s the best news he could possibly get today. Derek’s chest goes from cold to warm at the words. A small smile slips onto Laura’s face. “I swear to god, Derek, I have been waiting for that for _ages._ Don’t even care if we don’t win Gold, totally worth it for that.”

Derek’s heart skips several beats, and he feels another flush that has nothing to do with how hard they just exerted themselves. Oh god. He can’t think too much about those words, or how Stiles isn’t entirely joking when he says them. If he does, he might just lose it. Stiles has been wanting this for years, and it’s the kiss that he cares about?

Derek is so screwed. So hopelessly screwed.

“Yeah,” he agrees, because the fact that he can barely think about the routine speaks volumes. “I—Stiles, I…”

“I know,” Stiles says, and grips Derek’s hand. “Me too. Like, a lot.”

Derek lets out a shaky breath, and Stiles’ muscle finally stops spasming. Stiles lets out another whimper, but this one is from relief. He practically slumps into Derek, and Derek wraps an arm around his shoulders. He holds him close, feeling so many emotions all at once that he can’t keep track of them: joy, anxiety, exhilaration, satisfaction, love. Erica scuttles back with painkillers and water in hand, and Stiles makes grabby hands at them.

“You angel,” he says, practically ripping the cap off as he guzzles them down, and Erica beams.

“You did so well,” she gushes, and looks like she might just hug them. From Erica, that means a lot. “Derek, your quad-quad combo is being replayed nonstop!”

“Yeah,” he says again, still numb and in shock that they pulled it off, and Stiles presses the side of his face against Derek’s shoulder. He cares about that a lot more than his quad-quad.

“You’re the most amazing person ever,” Stiles says, like he means every single word, and Derek wants to kiss him again. “I can’t believe we did that. How did I not fall? Oh my god, we did so good. And we showed them, too! Do you think Disney will make a movie about us now?”

Derek snorts. “No, but I think Sterek fans will probably write some stuff.”

“They will _definitely_ write some stuff,” Laura confirms from the side.

“Oh god, I wonder how many monetary bets were resolved tonight,” Stiles murmurs, and Derek can’t believe how natural it feels to be talking about the kiss. It’s like it wasn’t the first time, like it was planned all along.

It definitely was not planned all along.

(But it has been impossible not to lean in, to let Stiles off that rink without kissing him. The way he had whispered, “Try not to drop me,” at the start, with so much tenderness that it had broken Derek’s heart. The way he _said_ the lyrics at the end, instead of mouthing them—like they were for Derek. The complete, utter trust he had showed when Derek went to assist for that last triple axel. The way his hand had been right where Derek needed it to be, after his quad-quad combo. He can’t handle it.)

“I had my own bet running,” Erica offers happily, and Derek gapes at her as Stiles cackles.

“Which side?” he asks, and Erica rolls her eyes.

“What do you think? _You_ weren’t the one who saw him turn down five female partners, only to settle with _you._ ”

“Well, I hope you share some of that money with us,” Stiles says, and he shifts on the seat. Derek knows that his hip just throbbed, without needing to ask. “Because you’re technically profiting off our kiss, which might be pornography? At the very least, cinematic glory. So, I expect a cut.”

Erica snorts, and Stiles curls a bit closer to Derek. His breathing is finally starting to slow, the exertion from the routine transitioning from a high heart rate to the heavy-set limb stage. Derek matches his breathing, frowning up at the scoreboard.

“What’s taking them so long?” he asks, and Laura lays a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“I think they’re trying to figure out how to score your quad-quad, considering it’s _never been done on Olympic ice before,_ you dud.”

“Seriously amazing,” Stiles mutters again, and Derek takes comfort in his voice. Stiles is shivering again, and Derek looks around for their jackets.

“Here,” says a voice from behind them, and Derek turns to see Deaton standing there. He stands immediately, and Stiles grumbles.

“Thank you,” Derek says, and they know it’s for significantly more than the jackets. He takes them anyways, but has no idea how to express how appreciative he is. “I—I never would have tried that combination without you. You didn’t have to give us that time, but…”

“My hip would have been _shot_ with our original routine _,_ too,” Stiles says, and Deaton just smiles at them.

“Considering my skater still won Gold with a perfect score in her free skate, I don’t consider it any hassle,” Deaton says, and Derek slips one of the jackets around Stiles’ shoulders. Stiles wriggles into it, and grabs Derek’s hand again before he can escape.

“Cold,” is all he says, and Derek sighs and wraps his arm around him once more.

They sit, and wait.

By the time the announcer comes back on, they’re all significantly nervous. It’s been long enough for the endorphins from the routine to wear off, but not long enough for them to resign themselves to a low score.

Their short program score goes onto the screen first: 71.67. That’s of absolutely no use to them, though, because they already know that one from yesterday. Derek and Stiles both hold their breath as they wait for the announcer to give their free total.

“And the judges appear to be impressed with the Stilinski-Hale pair, with a whopping 147.30!”

All of the breath leaves Derek’s lungs as Stiles gasps, jumping up as the scoreboard gives them their combined: 218.97.

Their names, and the little US flag next to them, moves up to first place.

 “Oh my god!” Stiles screams along with the crowd, and turns to Derek with a look of pure, unfiltered joy. Derek is standing now, too, his face feeling like it’s going to split apart from his grin. “Derek! _Oh my god! Oh my fucking god!_ ”

Derek laughs, because they’re in _first place,_ and there’s only two teams left to challenge them for that spot. No matter what happens, they’ve earned a medal of some sort. “Yes, yeah—yeah, Stiles, we—we did it—”

Stiles doesn’t even seem to care about his hurt hip as he lunges forward, grabbing Derek in a whirlwind of motion. He stands on his tiptoes, and smashes their mouths together.

Derek grips him close, and kisses him like he wants to drown in it.  

* * *

 

“Oh man,” Stiles drawls, sounding completely exhausted, and plops face-first onto their hotel bed.

Derek agrees with that sentiment. He feels like a rag put through the laundry one-too-many times. The gold medal hanging around his neck feels absurdly heavy, even though he knows it isn’t. He can still see the flashes of cameras and TV lights behind his eyelids, hear the clamoring and screaming for him and Stiles as they accepted Gold.

Stiles shifts to face upward on the bed as Derek slides his bag onto the floor, too exhausted to care about putting things away. They’ve rented a hotel room for the afternoon, because going to the shared Olympic dorm after publicly making out felt a bit uncomfortable. It also wasn’t nearly as appealing as being able to collapse into a soft bed and take a nap together. The longing for a nap was made all the stronger when their friends and family threatened them with bodily harm if they didn’t celebrate later tonight.

“God, today has been wild,” Stiles murmurs, looking like a limp noodle sprawled out on the bed, and Derek makes a noise of agreement in the back of his throat. “I can’t believe it.”

“Me neither,” Derek says, and Stiles opens one of his eyes to look at him. Derek smiles at him, and Stiles lets a little grin slip onto his face.

“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted a nap this much in my entire life. Also, Vicodin.”

They had all expressly refused to give Stiles Vicodin.

“I can rub it again, if you want,” Derek offers, and Stiles shakes his head.

“No, just come here,” he sighs, and Derek only hesitates for a split second before he gathers the courage to do just that. He settles down on the side of the bed, sweatpants soft against his knees and loose long-sleeved t-shirt wrinkling at the elbows. Stiles reaches out, takes his hand. His own matching set of clothes is wrinkled, because he never bothered to hang them up in the first place. Derek finds it so annoying. He loves it.  

“Are we gonna be really weird about this now?” Stiles murmurs, clearly sleepy, and Derek can’t help but chuckle.

“I don’t know. Should we be?”

Stiles seems to think on it. “Probably. But we’re not exactly conventional. Will you lay down?”

Derek obliges, carefully climbing over Stiles so he can settle down without causing his hip to shift. His body screams in relief as he takes the pressure of standing and moving off it, and Stiles shifts so he’s tucked against Derek’s shoulder. His fingers trace the collar of Derek’s shirt, and Derek closes his eyes.

“I dreamed about this, you know,” Stiles whispers into the gentle silence between them, and Derek blinks open his eyes to look over at him. Stiles is gazing at him with his warm brown eyes, still tracing his fingers across Derek’s shirt. A finger skims Derek’s collarbone, and he shivers.

“What do you mean?” Derek asks, because there’s a lot of things about today that Stiles could have dreamed about. Derek knows that he’s checked off several of his own.

“You,” Stiles says simply, and Derek’s heart skips. His hands come up automatically to steady Stiles as the younger man moves over him, settling into a seated position in Derek’s lap.

“Careful,” Derek scolds, heart not in it, and Stiles laughs. Derek looks up at him from his horizontal position on the bed, feels the soft pillows under his head and the warm weight of Stiles against him. This feels right. This feels good.

“My hip is fine like this,” Stiles reassures him, lips forming into a smile, and Derek feels breathless. Stiles is stunning, beautiful and captivating in a way that makes it impossible to look away.

“If you’re sure,” Derek says, hands coming to rest on the hips that he loves so much, and Stiles chuckles again.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, and leans forward to kiss him.

They start slow, mouths exploring each other as they learn and feel. Stiles is pliant and easy against him, as are his lips. The room is quiet—just the shift of fabric, the sound of their lips. It’s lazy, and unhurried, and exactly what they need. Derek feels drunk on it, each press of their lips leaving him wanting more. His hands move as Stiles’ body shifts, palms coming to press on either side of Derek’s head as his hips raise a little, until Stiles is hovering over him. Stiles lets out a small noise against his mouth as his tongue asks for permission, and Derek opens up without thinking. He shivers when Stiles’ tongue takes his over, and again when Stiles tangles a hand in his hair.

Stiles’ shirt is loose, and there’s a thin strip of skin tantalizingly close to Derek’s fingers. He want to touch Stiles’ skin, feel the heat there. He’s touched almost all of Stiles in the rink, but clothes separated their bodies. Off the rink, in a bed, like _this_ —he’s never done that.

“Can I…” he murmurs, into Stiles’ mouth, and Stiles nods. Derek slowly slides his hands up the expanse of Stiles’ curved back, hiking the navy shirt up a few inches as he does so. Stiles’ kisses become a degree more urgent as he does, and Derek almost arches into him with the sudden need to be closer. Stiles keeps him steady, soothes him by sliding his left hand under Derek’s shirt. He kisses Derek like he’s the only thing in the world that matters.  

Derek drowns.

“How long?” Stiles whispers against his mouth, and Derek lets out a strained noise.

“Since Sectionals,” he breathes, and Stiles gives a nod that feels a little frantic, kisses him hard. Derek stutters over the next words, fingers tracing smooth skin. “You?”

“Liked you since twenty questions,” he gasps, “but loved you since Nationals.”

Derek’s next kiss for him is desperate.

Stiles’ hands run over his skin, their mouths mixing together as the air around them turns warm. There’s a gentleness there still, the exhaustion from the day still hovering over them. But there’s also an intensity, the feeling of their connection tying them tightly together. The need to be together, to embrace the intimacy that has finally been realized, is almost overwhelming.

“Your hip,” Derek gasps between a kiss, feeling the way Stiles’ legs are supporting all his weight, and Stiles makes a frustrated noise against his mouth. They’ve transitioned from easygoing to feverish over the past few minutes, and Derek doesn’t want to stop it but he doesn’t want Stiles hurting, either.

“Just a few more,” Stiles begs against his lips, and Derek feels hot all over. He presses up into the next kiss, lifting his head off the bed as he slides his hands back to Stiles’ hips. He takes his weight, lets Stiles relax into him. He assists. He gives him a few more, because he _can._

When they break apart, Stiles’ pupils are blown and his lips are slightly swollen. He stares down at Derek, who stares up at him, and they just hover with each other in the moment.

Then Stiles slumps against him, presses his forehead into Derek’s shoulder. “I want to bang you so bad,” he says, and it elicits a surprised bark of laughter from Derek. “But my fucking _hip_ has to get in the way of that plan.”

Derek runs his thumb over the dip in Stiles’ back, watches the goosebumps that appear there. “I think we’ll have time for that eventually,” he says, soft, and Stiles nods.

“Yeah,” he agrees, and Derek helps him slide down, eventually settling against Derek’s side. As he nuzzles there, he says, “I never really knew if you were into me, you know.”

Derek wraps an arm around him, letting himself go limp in the mattress. “Yeah?” It felt really obvious to Derek.

“Yep. I was so mad when I thought you were checking out Lydia. Heartbroken. I remember being like, _damn, you’ll never be satisfied._ ”

“Please don’t slip _Hamilton_ references into nap time,” Derek drones, and Stiles laughs.

“I mean it, though. You’ve ruined me for anyone else. _Congratulations_.”

“I hate you,” Derek says, and Stiles beams against his shoulder.

“Also, we’re the queer team now,” he says, and he sounds delighted. “I mean, we were the queer team before and I just didn’t know, but oh my god, now I know. Dude. Do other people know? Should I keep this secret?” He’s smirking at the last comment, and Derek laughs.

“If you can manage to erase that kiss from the minds and televisions of the _world_ , I’d be thoroughly impressed.”

“Guess we’ll just have to stick together then,” Stiles mumbles, body continuing to unwind the longer they lay there together, and Derek nods. They’re both drifting off, exhaustion and comfort mixing together in a panacea for their tired minds.

He tucks Stiles a bit closer. “I like the sound of that.”


End file.
